#because i was already crying my heart out because the poem made me reflect on why ive been in the closet so long and | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovelybarnes · 3 years

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stood up- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, anderson x reader (?) warnings: angst, getting stood up, language, unrequited feelings about: prompts (DA29) “i got stood up.” + (DF30) “i think you’re my soulmate.” +(DF41) “are you going to cry? please don’t cry. a/n: i love to hurt but dw it’s a happy ending, i actually like this fjsk, a the time i finished this, i just posted another imagine, so i can’t wait for you guys to read this one in a couple days

every passing second makes you hyperaware of all the sympathetic stares that are currently directed at you. the feeling of pity is enveloping you whole, wrapping you in a thin layer of shame that you think must be related to the careful makeup you caked on your face for this date. your recently manicured nails scratch at the tablecloth, trying to avoid your new expensive dress, deep midnight color clinging to your nervous self. teeth stress your dark wine bottom lip, anxious eyes darting across the restaurant.

with each face that enters the place, none of them being his, the presumption that he isn’t coming solidifies. with it, comes the embarrassment. you can feel the warnings of tears, already threatening to ruin the mascara you had applied so carefully, not bothering to choose the waterproof one because why would you be crying on your date?

you suppose it’s your own fault- how dare you attempt to get over bucky? how dare you trust the words of a shield agent? you pick at your nails, gathering up the courage to stand up and leave. your waitress, however, beats you to it, a faux apologetic look on her face. “oh, so you’ve been here for, like, half an hour and it seems no one is coming, and we kind of need the table, so…”

you hold back an uncomfortable cringe, nodding stiffly as you stand. “right. i’m sorry. i don’t need to… pay for the water, right?” you ask dumbly, ducking your head when she shakes her head condescendingly.

pushing the door open, you step into the brisk air of the night, clouded over with an uneasy disappointment that you’re sure is because of you. you stand for a second to look at the stars, realizing how pretty of a night this would be if you weren’t so damn frustrated. the upset hasn’t passed yet, although the beginnings of anger are peeking up in your stomach.

while you stare up at the moon, the universe decides your getting stood up wasn’t enough, choosing to gift you with cold droplets of water that make your mascara run. it’s unbelievable, you nearly scoff tearily.

you walk to your car then, the moonlight that should have been romantic when you walked out of the restaurant now only making you feel lonely. you don’t let the tears come yet, having enough pride to not let the smitten couples appreciating the romance of the rain see you cry, deciding to put that off until you’re in the quietness of your room.

you drive in the sound of the pattering rain, concentrated on keeping your breathing even so as to push back the tears, not wanting to have an accident on the way back home because your vision was clouded over with sadness.

the relief you feel when you arrive at the compound is immeasurable; the knowledge that all you have to do is walk quietly to your room, and you can release the pent up emotions that eat you whole is unbelievably satisfying. the horrible itching feeling that comes with the tears arrives again when you notice your reflection in the impressively clean windows of the stark compound. through the stains of your ruined makeup, you can see the remnants of how dolled up you were, how much time was spent with the intricate details that made you smile when you looked at yourself in the mirror.

you swallow back the painful lump in your throat, opening the doors and sniffling at the dimly-lit room. your heels click tiredly on the floor, precious bracelet lightly jangling when you move. you can’t find it in yourself to care when you realize you’re dragging water inside, resigning to letting stark lecture you in the morning.

as you stand in the elevator, waiting for it to reach your floor, the emotions you’ve pushed so far down decide to spring back up in the form of an overwhelming dejected exhaustion that makes you physically slump. you lean against the cool of the metal railing, shutting your eyes hard to avoid looking at yourself. you only pry your eyes open when you hear the soft ding of the elevator, surprised and once again embarrassed to see bucky standing between the open doors.

“y/n?” he asks quietly. his demeanor immediately changes when he takes you in, body softer in the way it always is when you’re with him. his reaction makes you fall deeper, which reminds you exactly why you were going on your failed date. you straighten, clearing your throat, “um- i have to get to my room.”

your voice is thin, heightening his worries and stopping you with a gentle hand to your arm before you step off the elevator, “what’s wrong? what happened? are you okay?” he asks, and you nod blindly at all of his questions, realizing that the longer you stay with him- with his warm hand that you can’t help but lean into pressed against your cold arm- the more you really want to cry and scream because it’s not fair that he’s been given to you, yet you can’t have him, even if he has you.

“i’m fine,” you lie obviously, forcing your eyes again from his. “y/n, what happened? you’re clearly not fine,” bucky pushes, the hand on your arm beginning to rub stressed circles into your skin. you give up then, looking back at him. “i got stood up,” you say finally, words cracked. you shake your head, “and i just spent so much time on everything and-”

“that’s stupid. who would stand you up?” bucky interrupts, eyes genuinely confused while you scoff. “apparently anderson from security,” you respond bitterly, looking away. “he’s stupid, y/n. he has to be to not go to a date with you.”

you exhale frustratedly, “maybe not. maybe there’s something wrong with me and i’m the stupid one for even thinking someone would want to go out with me,” you countered. “hey, no, you are- you are amazing, y/n. amazing and stunning and intelligent and he missed his chance to be the luckiest guy in the world,” he insisted, gently pulling your attention back to him with a gentle hand on your cheek. you give him a watery laugh through the loud, unfair questions in your head: why don’t you love me like i love you, then?

you don’t realize the tears that run down the streaks of already ruined mascara until bucky points them out, wiping them away with his fingers, “no, no, don’t cry, please don’t cry,” he begs. you can’t help it, though, biting your lip to hold back your unrequited confessions of love.

“nobody wants me. i don’t even think i want me anymore,” you weep, oblivious to the breaking of bucky’s heart when he hears your words, pulling you flush against his chest. “don’t say that, doll. that’s not true-”

“it is. what other reasons can you think of that explain why i��m the only one that’s shown up to the rare dates i’ve been on? why have i had to go on those stupid dates just to forget how pathetic i am that i can’t get over you?”

you’re too deep in the ocean of your thoughts to realize what you’ve said, too little light available in the dark to let you realize the hints you have and will undoubtedly let out if you continue blubbering into bucky’s shoulder like the mess you are. your feelings are scattered, words so disorganized that any way you piece them together will be a mistake. “why else does the one person who i actually want to love me back not want me?”

bucky can make sense of the words you’re saying, the heavy weight they carry when he realizes exactly what they mean, and what you imply. he’s frozen, heart simultaneously fluttering at the mere thought of his feelings being returned and breaking at the cries you’re letting out because of him.

he’s refused to ever be the source of your pain, restricting his own poems of confessions because he didn’t want to hurt you, never wanting to be the reason you cried. he supposes now it was the wrong choice, one he needs to fix.

the bead of insecurity buried stubbornly in his mind shrieks, however, because he’s as clueless as you are and can’t possibly imagine someone like you- so kind and pure and good- loving him back. so he needs to make sure, needs to hear you say it in your voice.

“what?” you let out a watery scoff, full of embarrassment rather than annoyance at him, “don’t make me say it, bucky, please-”

“please say it- i- i need you to say it.”

a beat of silence passes before you sniffle, pulling away from the man you’ve called your best friend and wanted nothing but to be able to call him more. “i love you, bucky. in a way that makes me pretty sure you’re my soulmate because i don’t even believe in that but you make me feel like i should.”

bucky’s storm clouds lighten, doubts dissolving when he listens to what you said, tasting your words and examining each one just to remember it. he pulls your lips to his when they’ve barely processed. “you should,” he says when he pulls away for a second, only to make you lose your breath again when he aches for you immediately, kissing you again, “believe in soulmates.”

“why is that?” you ask breathlessly, letting him pull you back in because you both have been waiting- dreaming about this for so damn long, and he isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to keep away from you now that he has you. he presses a sloppy kiss to your lips, so perfectly imperfect when your teeth clash and you both laugh gently, noses nudging each other when he leans his forehead on yours, “because we’re meant to be, y/n. in that way that soulmates are.”

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sasaparilla · 3 years

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Crane with a s/o that gets scared easily.

(Gender neutral!)

-My my, aren't you a scaredy cat? He will absolutely adore the noises you make when getting jumpscared by him for the third time today after he simply swifts from being beside you to disappearing in the dark behind a wall and then reappearing again close to your face saying "Boo!"

-There's no safe time for you when Jon is around. If you lose him out of your point of view be sure of two things: 1- He is interested in something else in the other room. 2- He is right behind you and his fingers are already crawling up in the back of your neck before another "boo!" gently blows in your ear

-Seriously, even he will wonder how the hell do you get startled so easily? He will start to think you're just pretending but then after seeing the absolute panic painted in your face when an insect started flying in the room, it was proven to him that yes… you were scared easily.

-Funny enough when you get scared from something else that isn't one of Jon's antics, (for example a movie he recommended you two to watch) he will gladly hold your shaking frame just to feel your panicked heartbeat, while trying his best not to smirk over the scene of your arms shivering. Such a sight to behold.

-Although he enjoys seeing the bright terror in your eyes, Jon has learned about your limits too well to know when to stop. He doesn't see any sort of pleasure when seeing you cry. The first time he actually did see you shedding tears out of fear from playing a horror game it made him feel kinda guilty. Jon then realises he just likes your scared expression, not your suffering one.

-Even if his whole signature is about causing people to feel their deepest fears for his own morbid curiosity, Jon feels quite satisfied with just the surface of your fears, as generic and normal as they can be. However, if you catch your own gut and manage to sit with him to talk about some of your real traumas, he will not only play his professional psychology role and assist you to face it better but will also be so proud of you.

Imagine, you are revealing your worst fears for the one who is known to weaponize them against you. Jon sees it as a massive signal of trust you have with him and as much as he is loving your spooked expression when talking about them, he will take this as a personal treasure. A private moment that only you two know about.

-Since then, it's up to you. Jon will offer his hand of help if you're willing to face your fears and try to overcome them, he knows how it feels and has a large experience on the matter.

If you feel like you are not ready or simply prefer to keep living this way, he will respect your decision and keep your traumas locked in his head as a secret.

-Keep in mind that the everyday little jumpscares will still occur.

Bonus:

"It's not a phobia, trust me. It's an expected reaction you have from the unknown of said subject. Especially after such… inconvenient events from your past." Jon finishes his talk with you sitting at the other end of the small table in your kitchen. He usually spent the whole afternoon with you during weekends before leaving again when night began to fall. Not that he was hiding from you about his underground work but this routine simply suited well between both you and him, since you aimed to maintain your normal life and Jon his hidden one both safe.

"I don't know, it's just so tiring sometimes to me like I don't want to react but yet I can't control it." You speak kinda upset, gripping your fists that were landing on the table.

"It's the opposite, my dear. Fear controls us. Our only chance is to accept and overcome it eventually if the chance appears." He replies to your frustration as calmly as if reciting a poem.

"I don't think I can do it. Hell, you've seen me freaking out because of a ridiculous small spider last week." Your attempt to lift the mood with a laugh fails as Jon keeps looking at you with a blank expression, making you look down embarrassed.

"That's why I'm here to offer you help. To give you this chance."

Still looking down, you meditate in silence about his words for a moment. Doubt still made it seem unclear as to how you would win your trauma. Lacking any idea of a viable option at the moment from yourself.

A gentle metallic noise snaps you from your thoughts. Your eyes catch the image of a syringe containing an orange liquid inside resting on the table in the space between you and Jon. He retracts his hand away from the item, folding the small secret pocket from inside his coat in which he took it out previously.

Meeting your gaze, Jon brings his hands up to his chin, intertwining his fingers and resting his elbows on the table, not breaking the eye contact he fixed with yours, though his eyes were hidden by the bright white his glasses reflected from the room's lightning.

"Of course, the choice will be yours." He reassures you about your position.

You switch your focus back to the syringe and remember clearly what is Jon's speciality together with the dangers of it. He maintains his silence, allowing you to face your own indecision before you finally speak.

"Alright. I will take the chance."

If it weren't for his hands close to his face, it wouldn't be able for him to hide his devilish smirk.

You two rearrange the chairs to be closer now, Jon assumes the position of medical administration and holds your arm gently as the slim shadow of the syringue hovers above your skin.

"I want you to know the dose will be low to not last long but enough for the chemicals to work properly. Understand?"

You nod.

"Are you sure about this?"

Once again you nod while feeling a chill sensation in your stomach. You were scared, of course you were and he knew it too. However, it was your choice.

The syringe needle sinks in the surface of your skin and slowly makes its length disappear and appear again from the spot, injecting the unholy fear substance in your blood course. The sting pain is then replaced by a numb sensation following up to your arm shaking. Your heart begins to race and you can feel sweat forming in your forehead. Wiping it with the back of your hand, you realise that your hand feels heavier than before and checking the reason for it, you're met with the vision of your skin succumbing to putrid flesh as insects start coming out of what were supposed to be your nails.

Desperation hits, you notice Jon's form switching to something darker, scarier and menacing, but his mouth remains in a serene smile before it moves to speak.

"Now tell me, what do you see?"

#jonathan crane #jonathan crane x reader #gender neutral s/o #own writing #first fic posted here ayeee

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calumxkisses · 3 years

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Yellow | c.h.

pairing: calum hood x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

summary: prince!calum au - you're his yellow and he's yours.

a/n: hi! 'm not really good with au imagines but i hope you'll like it. let me know what you think of this imagine. love you!

this imagine its inspired by the song: yellow

✰ ✰ ✰

“Yellow.” A sudden voice makes you jump. You close the book you’re reading as you place a hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating quickly.

The library is huge, the storm lights barely illuminate the room, making it almost impossible to find your way around and read without the help of candles. The smell of old books is strong, there is a lot of dust on the shelves and feeling small near these high shelves make the perfect atmosphere to be able to take refuge from the outside world, from a world made of rules and confined to the land surrounding the property. Your little refuge, however, is interrupted by the presence of this man and you turn around quickly, trying to hide the smile that forms on your face at the sight of the stranger.

Despite the size of the room, the prince appears to be in full control of everything around him. He is standing in front of the door, several meters separate your figure from his, yet you can see the smile he gives you, his hands hidden behind his back and the fine lines near his eyes that underline his amused expression.

“What?” You ask before placing your hand in front of your mouth and widening your eyes. In your mind, a vivid image of your mother scolds you for your language and reminds you that you are no longer a child and that you must be careful when addressing a prince or any other high-ranking social figure.

“I'm sorry for talking to you like that, sir. I'm afraid I don't understand what your 'yellow' refers to.”

Prince Calum laughs briefly before slowly approaching you.

"We've known each other since we were children, we don't need certain formalities."

“My mother says-” you try to justify yourself, but he cuts you off right away.

“Nobody’s here.” He whispers before standing in front of you, keeping some distance to avoid misunderstanding in case someone enters. If it were up to him, there would be no such distance between you, but rules are rules and he would never want to compromise your image.

You look around to make sure no one is spying on you and, sure you are alone with him, you relax your shoulders and jaw, releasing the sigh you were holding back.

“So, yellow?” You ask, smiling, placing the book on the table to your left while you look at the boy, waiting for an answer.

His curly hair is carefully pulled back and the dark circles under his eyes lead you to imagine him sitting at his desk, with a lighted candle next to him and his gaze on the window in front of him, instead of the pages he is holding with his hand, pages he should study in order to become the man his father wants him to be, but that he will never be.

“It was a difficult choice, I will not lie to you. There are so many colors that remind me of you, the red of the dress you wore at your first dance when you entered society, the purple of the vase you broke when you discovered that you have been promised in marriage to an old man or the blue of water of the stream next to the tree where we always go to sit under it. And there are a thousand other colors that I associate to you.”

You smile proudly to hear that he paid attention to every detail and remember how as a child he couldn't even memorize the poems the teachers taught him and the thousand fights you had when you tried in vain to help him learn each verse.

“When I think of you, however, I think back to when you collected Ranunculus repens and put them in your hair, to embellish your hair and feel like the princesses who came to visit us. You always did it and you always took a few more so, when it rained and we couldn't go out, you had your little escort and you could wear them even inside these walls. You always have and if I'm not wrong-”

Calum slowly reaches out his arm towards you, his hand brushes your neck causing you to shiver all over your body, before moving a strand of hair and grabbing something from behind your ear.

“You still wear them.” He whispers, bringing his hand in front of your eyes and showing the small yellow flower you were wearing until a few seconds before.

“They still make me feel like a princess from one of those fairy worlds I read books about.” You whisper, you look down as a sense of shame takes hold in your body. Your heart seems to feel pain as you think back to how you still feel as a child, how you still dream of those fairy tales you hoped you could live one day.

“You're a princess with or without those flowers on, you know it too, you just hope that others see you as you do, too special for a life you don't want to be part of.” He says bringing his fingers under your chin and lifting your face up. His gaze no longer conveys joy and his tone is harsh, an angry expression has taken place on his face.

“Calum..” You try to stop him from speaking that truth you don't want to hear, but his words have broken through your heart and the pain you seemed to feel, now you are definitely feeling. You take a step back, trying to get away from a situation you can't escape from.

“You don't have to do it, you don't have to stay and spend the rest of your life between false smiles and sleepless nights. Your sister will be queen and my father thinks I'm a failure since I was born. Let's run away, me and you. My cottage already has everything we need and I'm sure they will never come looking for us. We will live that fairy tale we imagined for us and we will have the life we always wanted.”

His hand grabs yours and his gaze is on you. You know he's not lying, he told you the love he feels towards you in the dungeons of this same castle and you haven't thought twice before confessing your love to him.

But this castle, these people, is all you have always known.

It’s a world that doesn't belong to you but you can't just leave. There are rules, responsibilities, tasks that you cannot escape.

“It's not that easy, Calum.”

“No, it's not, it's not easy and it won't be. We'll probably end up arguing and you'll regret running away with me. But then you'll think back to all these tight corsets you had to wear, all the formalities you had to comply with and the man you would hold if you have stayed and you will understand that country life is so much better than a life spent in sadness and that that terrible man who made you cry actually loves you madly and just wants what he knows it’s better for you.”

He also grabs the other hand and continues.

“And if you really want to go back, I will be ready to be looked at with scandal by everyone and to take you back to the castle, to face your father and see you held by arms that are not mine.”

You know that it will be hard, but you have never wanted to be a queen. It’s a big responsibility for a girl that just wants to live a fairy tale, that wants to be free in her own terms. You never wanted a kingdom, you never wanted to be property of some old man and certainly you never wanted to spend your existence submitted to someone else’s orders.

You just wanted to be happy, to live your life to the fullest, to love a man who respected you, your dreams, your independence and your passion for flowers and books.

And maybe house cleaning, mud and small rooms will never be like having silk sheets, breakfast prepared by someone else and the floor always clean, but they certainly convey a sense of greater happiness and a life spent in misery and in sadness it’s the dream of those who do not want to fight for what they dream of and are satisfied with mediocrity.

And you don't deserve mediocrity and the guy in front of you knows it well, he sees it in the way you feel uncomfortable during the dances, when your father talks to you about matters you can never take care of because you’re a woman and in the look that you give to your mother when she talks about her marriage, that is only political and not based on love.

You turn to your right, a huge gold mirror near the window reflects the library, the place where you grew up and where you have taken refuge millions of times. You look in the mirror, the diamond earrings reflect the gray of the sky and are too heavy for your ears. Your dress is gorgeous, hand-sewn by the best tailors, yet you don't feel as beautiful as when you wear old, unfashionable clothes and run free for the castle hills, without the fear of getting dirty or ruining expensive dresses.

Your eyes, pupils who love to look at the horizon, are sad, aware that by staying they will not be able to see any wonder. You touch your face, slowly run your hands over your cheeks, over your lips and run your finger over the bridge of your nose, remembering when you were just a little girl and were treated like a normal girl, a girl that loved when her father played with her and touched her nose while making funny noises with his mouth.

Then you look outside. The sky is full of dark clouds, the rain falls incessantly and a few lightning illuminate the afternoon sky. You look at that garden you have walked a thousand times, at all the flowers you have collected and at all the plants you have destroyed while playing with Calum.

You close your eyes thinking about all the places you haven't visited, all the trees you haven't leaned on to read and all the rivers you haven't seen flowing. There is a world out there, you think, that has yet to be discovered. And who are you, if not a woman ready for life's adventures?

“You didn't ask me.” You whisper.

“What?” Calum asks, confused.

“You didn't ask me which color reminds me of you.” You repeat as you slowly turn around to look at him.

A huge smile forms on his face.

“What color do you think when you think of me?”

“When I was ten, one night, I decided to explore the dungeons alone. I wanted to prove to myself that I was able to do anything. I almost made it, I almost managed to face the monster we thought lived in the cells, but then it was all too dark and I ended up going back to my room crying.” You slowly approach him.

“The next night, you showed up in my room with a jar full of fireflies, you gave it to me and whispered "You can do it." I ended up walking through the dungeons with this jar in my hand, you were a few meters behind me to make sure nothing happened to me, but I always knew you were there, even if you tried to hide.”

“I was able to face one of my biggest fears that night. Whatever other problem happened, you were always ready to help me if I needed it, you always supported me, with advice or simply by being close to me, a few steps back to let me free. You were essential in making me grow, while remaining away. Like the stars, who guide the sailors from the sky, they let the sailors do what they believe is right, but they are there to help and guide them if they need it.”

You bring your lips to his ear and whisper: “At midnight, in our place. Don't be late and take the blue carriage, it makes less noise on the street.” You turn around and walk to your room to pack a small bag with all the essentials.

“Wait, you didn't answer my question!” He says turning towards the direction you went.

“You are my yellow, Calum.” You say, you are far away but you know he’s smiling and you smile too.

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agathasangel · 3 years

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leave everything behind but me- part 4 (diane sherman x reader) (NSFW moment)

warnings: same as before, stalking (like full on irl stalking as well as online), drugging, some talk of emotional/physical abuse in this one, death mention. this whole fic is just kinda dark... sorry. Also brief nsfw moment.

summary: this part is from Diane’s perspective. as she looks for her neurotoxin ingredients in a panic, she reflects on how she came into contact with you in the first place, and all the highs and lows of your relationship up to this point.

where the hell are they? thought Diane, looking for the last, most important ingredient in her neurotoxin.

She couldn’t believe it had come to this again. Just like with Chloe.

Diane wondered where Chloe was, what she was doing. About five years ago, with an excellent defense lawyer, she managed to get out of jail for what she had done. She looked far and wide for her stolen daughter, who seemed to be nowhere to be found. She still worried about what became of Chloe, but knew she was probably doing alright. And one day, Diane found a new obsession by the name of (y/n).

It was nearly two years ago now. Diane was beginning to give up on finding Chloe, after three full years of searching anywhere and everywhere with no luck. But she did find something else.

She was staying at a hotel in California, near the hospital where she gave birth to Chloe, in the vain hope that maybe, just maybe, Chloe would be around.

Diane didn’t find Chloe, but she found something else from her past. Her college reunion was being held in the exact hotel she was staying at. She didn’t plan on attending, but then she came face-to-face with her college rival. This woman was the only person who did better in her classes than Diane. Not only that, but she had multitudes of friends, boyfriends, you name it, while Diane had no one. The woman never let Diane forget how much better she was either. It wasn’t the worst thing Diane had ever been through, not by a long shot, but it was a disappointment for sure. College was supposed to be the place where Diane could finally feel like she belonged, and she always resented this rival of hers.

“Diane! We didn’t think you were coming! Oh here, have a seat!” said the woman.

“I’m so sorry about Roger. It was such a shock to hear about.”, she continued, reminding Diane of her dead husband

“Yeah, I still can’t say I’m over it, all these years later.”

“Yeah when the love of your life just drops dead like that, you never get over it, do you?”, she said, far louder than Diane would have liked.

“Can we please talk about something else?”

“Of course, I’m so sorry, Diane, I know it must be so hard for you!”

“Yeah. Um... what’s your family like?”

“Well we have one daughter. Her name is (y/n), and she’s a senior in High School,” said the woman. She then leaned into Diane and said, “But can I be honest? I never exactly wanted kids. Never liked them. I thought it would change when I had her but it didn’t. She’s so... difficult.”

Diane’s blood absolutely boiled hearing this, but she managed to keep a polite face, “But that’s your child. Don’t you love her?”

“There are some good things about her, I guess. I do love her in my own way, but I can’t help but feel disappointed. She’s just not what I thought she’d be. I’m sorry, I thought you may understand. I never get to vent my frustrations about her.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t understand. But, do you, um, by any chance have a picture of her?”

“On my phone, somewhere. Let me look.”

After a while, she found a picture of (y/n). It was fairly recent photo of you at a restaurant, at what looked like a dinner with the whole family. You looked sad and lost, but Diane thought you looked sweet.

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” said the woman, almost stifling a laugh, as if there was no way Diane could have meant that.

“I’m sorry, I need to go to the bathroom.” said Diane, as she was starting to turn red in anger and the woman.

“I’ll join you, I need to freshen up a bit.”

“Fine.”

So Diane walked straight into a stall while the other woman followed. Diane started to cry, so angry at this awful woman. She had a child, a beautiful, sweet, girl who was alive, for God’s sake. Diane would kill for what she has, in fact she had killed for it before. But this woman didn’t care about her child, she didn’t appreciate you one bit.

She didn’t deserve you.

Then she heard the woman get into the stall next to her and she decided to leave. But the woman left her purse on the sink. Diane looked into her purse and found everything. All her information was in her wallet, and she took pictures of her address, phone number, and credit card numbers, as well as a couple of photos of you and your father. Diane quickly threw the last photo back into her purse as she heard her enemy get up, and she ran away, all the way back up to her room.

Diane looked at the photos, and started to look for your social media. You didn’t seem to post very often, or have many friends. Most of your photos were of you by yourself, or pretty things you took pictures of, and even a couple of sad poems you wrote. Poetry written by teenagers was usually laughably bad, but hers made Diane cry. She saw herself in you.

Poor little thing, Diane thought. She needs some love. But I can do that for her.

Diane spent about a month following you and your parents around, without any of you even noticing her presence. One day she snuck into their house and bugged it, so that there were feeds of different rooms streaming to her computer at all times.

Diane noticed you spent most of your time alone. You wrote in a journal a lot, and cried fairly often, hugging a teddy bear you had. You just seemed so burnt out from stress from school, stress from your job, pressure from your parents. You fought with both of her parents often. Well... fight wasn’t the right word. Usually, one parent would yell at you and insult you, and you would choose to either take it or not take it.

There was one particular instance where you snapped at your father, telling him how he abandoned you so many times. He didn’t take this well, screaming all kinds of insults. How Diane wished she could hold you, rock you, comfort you and tell you that aren’t any of the terrible things your father told you, and that she’s sorry that you never felt good enough.

Diane snuck into (y/n)’s graduation, too. She knew she couldn’t contact you yet, but she got so much happiness out of just seeing this milestone of your life. All you did was walk across the stage and take your diploma, but Diane beamed with pride for you as you did it.

After graduation, your parents were constantly threatening to kick you out, and the fights got worse, they crying got worse. Diane wished she was there, comforting you, holding you and giving you all the love that your parents didn’t. Diane looked for a window of opportunity into this girl’s life until she found the perfect one. You had put out an ad on facebook for anyone on the east coast looking for a roommate, and Diane put her plan into action. She made a fake account on facebook pretending to be a college girl named “Anna Johnson” and responded to the ad, starting to talk to and getting friendly with you. “Anna” suggested that you take a bus trip and offered to pay the fare, but you refused because you wanted to earn the money yourself. Diane’s heart warmed at your sweet messages, even though they were to “Anna” and not her. “I’ve never had as good a friend as you before”, “Who needs a mom when I have you giving me such great advice?”, “You’re the best!”, every little message that you sent to Diane made her fall more and more in love. Diane bought a little house on the East Coast with the money she got from selling her old house, and hoped everything will fall into place in her new life with (y/n).

Now during the bus trip, Diane needed to follow you closely in her silver minivan, and make sure not to lose track of you during layovers either. Her detour into the coffee shop scared her at first, but once Diane found you, it was the perfect opportunity to finally, after all these months of dreaming, meet you face-to-face. Her new little baby girl, finally. Diane slipped a powdered sleeping pill into her already tired girl’s coffee to make you even more sleepy and suggestible, getting you to come with her to her hotel room.

Back in the present, Diane found the rest of the powdered sleeping pills as she was searching through her medicine cabinet and closet. She got so distracted thinking about you, and all the horribly wrong things she had done to you.

It’s for her own good, all of it. She needs to be protected, she’s too pure for this world, to good, too sweet...

Diane searched through the drugs she had given you, thinking of all the best times the two of you have had.

The first day Diane had been with you in the little house was heaven on earth. Finally Diane had everything she’s been working for for almost a year now right there, in her arms. Diane wanted to give you everything you didn’t believe you deserved. The only catch was that you belonged to Diane, and Diane alone.

She got a job teaching Chemistry at the local High School fairly easily, as she had extensive knowledge (even more extensive than she may have let on in her interview), of the subject, and the school district was completely desperate for competent science teachers. Diane found faking the background check easy, she used her maiden name and an incorrect date of birth and they didn’t ask her about her arrest at all. And now she had her new life set up. A house that she owned, a job to put food on the table, and you.

The next best day for Diane was the day you finally kissed her. Diane was starting to fall in love with you in a more romantic, even a more sexual way, but didn’t know if you felt the same way about her. Then, during one of your movie nights, you kissed Diane, and she felt overjoyed. She kissed you back and finally led you to the bed and fucked you, like she had been thinking about doing every night at this point but was too scared to actually initiate until now. She was in love with the feeling she got from kissing you, from pleasing you. It had been so long since Diane had been this intimate with anyone, and she was your first. And it was a real awakening for the both of you.

It felt so good, you felt so good. This relationship you had was so incredibly wrong in so many ways, but it just felt so right.

Why did it have to change?

Of course, there were still some hard moments. Even Diane admitted that there were times when she could be irrationally possessive of you, getting angry when someone even looks at you the wrong way. She knew that her possessive, obsessive attitude could scare you, and you would even blame yourself for it, but she didn’t know how to stop. She knew that you were getting scared she would become more difficult to please, like all the other people that have been in your life.

Or the times that you would cry, and it happened so often. You would get sad and Diane would hold you and tell you:

“It’s ok baby, you’re here now, you’re with me. I love you more than life itself. You’re gonna be okay, my little angel.”

One night Diane woke up to you crying into your pillow, and immediately grabbed you.

“What’s wrong, baby? What happened?”

“I- I was afraid that you might- that- one day- you might not want me anymore... what would happen if you d-don’t want me....”

“Listen, I will never not want you. You are all I have, remember? And you’re all I need. Come here, that’s right. You’re my baby, all mine.. shhh....”

Or, there was the time you asked about the scars on Diane’s back. She was mortified, but finally told you about her terrible childhood. The horrible abuse from her mother until her death, the foster home, everything. Her desperation to become the mother she never had. You hugged her tight.

“I’m so sorry, Diane, I had no idea... and to think I complained about-”

“Baby, don’t compare your life to mine. All that matters now is that it’s you and me, and I need to take care of you.”

“Sometimes I think I should be the one taking care of you, Diane.”

“Trust me baby, you do so much more for me than you think.”

Then Diane found it. The rest of the paint thinner. And she was ready to take away all your sadness once and for all, and make you hers forever.

#my fics #sarah paulson x reader #diane sherman x reader #diane sherman #sarah paulson #sarah paulson fics

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myelocin · 4 years

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farewells etched in marmalade skies

synopsis: the good in oikawa tooru’s “goodbye,” comes in the form of iwaizumi hajime.

characters: oikawa tooru, you, iwaizumi hajime

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, more sky references r we surprised??? nO

wc: 1600+

a/n: my ex got engaged n i’m jus writing this to remind myself that even tho i loved sunsets bc of him,, marmalade skies will always be mine.

oikawa tooru enters your life with a hello, a hug, and an accidental kiss to the cheek. he loves you, at first, with love swirling so tenderly in the whirlpools of his caramel eyes.

bright, you think. they look sparkling.

you knew he yearned for the great things in life, while you were happy with the sunsets you ended the days with him. next to you, he looked not towards the sky but at the horizon that split the distance into water and sky and spoke of the adventures he wished to take that lay beyond it.

it was in those moments where he looked like he loved life the most.

and as for you, the sky was enough. the marmalade skies that sketched fiery clouds into the heavens was always comfort enough. the horizon, you think was beautiful. but tooru, next to you, with his warm hands and sparkling eyes always anchored you back to shore. love, to you, was as simple as that.

and because love blooming comes as simple as that, it also goes in the same manner.

argentina was what laid beyond the horizon. the white sand, warm sun, and the promise of a future—his future—was what began the first paragraph of your inevitable farewell.

“is love a sacrifice or are we just unnecessarily suffering?” he asks you one night when he stares at the invitation letter to play for an international team.

“do you want me to go?” he asks again, and when he turns to you his caramel eyes tell you that he isn’t in love with life anymore.

“i don’t,” you answer truthfully, because the only thing you can offer him now is just that—truth.

“i won’t accept it then,” you hear but the hesitation that coats his words is as thick as the lump in your throat. you feel like you can’t breathe, then when you look at tooru, he looks like he can’t either.

“tell me,” you start. “are you suffering?”

tooru stays quiet, shifts, then sighs again.

“you’re hesitating, tooru,” you say again before he turns to you, an apology already swirling in his eyes as he reaches forward and cradles your hands in between his. warm, you think. he was always the familiar kind of warm.

“i’m sorry,” he finally tells you; voice smooth, almost like already rehearsed through the conversation before. you stare at him, not exactly sure how to feel.

“it’s okay,” you reply, offering him a smile. he chooses not to comment when he notices that your eyes don’t smile with you this time, but tooru supposes he understands the reasons as to why.

“i wanna see you in love with life again,” you finally tell him, and in front of you, tooru drops the letter and crosses distance between the two of you and holds you in an embrace, more whispers of his apology murmured in between his cries and the tangles on your hair.

the sky outside looks like marmalade, you notice. and it must feel warm too, because when the light from the opened kitchen window trickles in and the music from your neighbor’s old radio from the window next door shushes tooru’s cries, you soften.

he’s warm, you think. warm like the feel of his hands clasping yours in winter walks, and warm like the feel of his tear streaked face pressed against the junction of your neck and shoulder. so when the music loops, you smile again.

you know this tune; it’s the one the grandfather next door plays a total of ten times once every year on the day of he and his wife’s anniversary. and like clockwork, you hear their laughs. soft and a little cheeky where the happiness that radiated from it spoke of the decades they’ve shared together.

“dance with me?” you ask tooru, then cup his face in between your hands, angling it so that he stares right at you.

he nods. then the light from the marmalade skies outside hit his eyes and you remember why you’re in love.

you still don’t know the lyrics of the song playing, and tooru seems like he doesn’t either. but he hums along to it as he sways with you, your steps not as quite in sync as it used to be. maybe because he’s crying, or because you’re tearing up yourself as you swipe at the fresh tears that keep rolling down from glassy pools of caramel.

and when you turn, for the first time you feel the warmth from the heavens. warmth from the skies that swirl with the colors of faded blue and orange marmalade. from your kitchen window, you don’t see the horizon from here—but you can’t bring yourself to mind one bit.

“is this it?” he asks you, and when the song from your neighbor’s old radio doesn’t loop after it stops, you both stay silent instead of saying goodbye.

goodbye, you think, wasn’t said when tooru waved at you from the departure hall of the airport. it wasn’t said when you opened the drawers he used to occupy and began filling it with your own clothes either.

goodbye, in your eyes was when you saw him again for the first time after some years with life in his eyes and the horizon in his hands. and you could only smile, as you watched them dance in circles to a love song that became familiar to you from the opened kitchen window of your old apartment.

argentina treated him kindly, you think as you listen to him speak his vows with poems written in spanish. “te amo,” he whispers to her and your heart leaps in the crowd because the warmth of the heaven’s above kiss your back right as they speak their “I do’s” into the world.

“goodbye,” is what you tell him when he drops you off at the airport two days later.

“the sky today looks like the one from your wedding,” you tell him and tooru looks up, shrugs and laughs in your direction.

“i didn’t notice,” he says, smiling sheepishly towards you.

“is that so,” you laugh and tell him “goodbye” again as he waves as you from the departure hall. the skies, you think, was probably something only you saw. while tooru, you realize, had always looked forward—seeking for what always laid beyond the horizon.

in a way, it comforts you.

you realize that because of that—the marmalade skies would always be yours.

and what becomes yours comes to you under the marmalade skies of autumn.

you come to awaken to the thought that the good in oikawa tooru’s goodbye, was found in iwaizumi hajime’s hand that never failed to warm yours when the autumn chill said their hellos.

it becomes hajime’s hand that pulled you up and spun you around in slow circles when oikawa’s absence made the world around you feel so still.

hajime, himself, becomes the good that made you appreciate the slow dances in quiet kitchens once again even if the song that shuffled on his playlist reminded you of wispy brown hair and spanish poems.

“i think i first met you under a sky like this,” hajime tells you as the sun dips and lights the sky into a sea of fire. he’s looking at you, green eyes turned into a muddled shade of a color you can’t quite make out, but looks all the shades clear at the same time.

“how long ago was that?” you laugh next to him, and he grins at you—in the way that looks so kind and so honest that you can’t help yourself but grin along with him.

“not long enough for me to forget,” he answers then lays back on the grass as he pulls you back down with him. warm, you think. not in the way that was familiar like tooru, but warm like the fireplace that waits to greet you back home.

“i didn’t know you were sappy,” you say, shifting your position so that you laid on his chest.

hajime laughs, and you catch yourself thinking that they chime like bells. he makes the autumn feel like summer and so you close your eyes, smiling at the memory of the summer sky’s warmth.

“for the right reasons i can be,” he retaliates before setting you down on the grass and shifting so that he’s leaning, propped up with one elbow and peering down at you. a shade in the shape of him covers you, but you reach out and pinch his cheek any way.

“am i a reason?” you ask, smiling up at him.

“you’re always a reason,” hajime answers, then laughs when you pinch his cheek again, muttering something about how he’s sounding so corny.

hajime peers down at you, his right hand moving to trace the sides of your cheek. he smiles, thinking that you look like the reflection of the marmalade skies he’s come to love ever since he saw you bathed in its colors on tooru’s wedding.

you looked like you were in love with life, he thinks. when the orange kissed the faded blue wisps in the sky and bathed the earth in a gleam of the warmest rays of light.

and marmalade skies, you suppose, will always truly be yours. especially in this moment when you look up at hajime’s face and feel the warmth of his skin triumph over the cold bite of the air. the skies, that always spoke of warmth and promises, only remind you that in this moment, as hajime leans down and murmurs his i love you into a kiss—that this was the promise that was meant for you.

so you suppose the good in oikawa tooru’s goodbye was when he was the first to let you go.

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 3 years

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A chatty writing update | novels, short fiction, etc!

Hi folks!

It’s been a while since I last wrote an update on this blog! I thought it’d be fun to go back to basics, and just talk about writing. This post chats about: new plans for Feeding Habits, my newest novel, my short story goals & growing collection, along with process reflections.

(image description: a photo of green leaves with the text “writing update” in a white font written on top. /end image description)

Post starts under the cut!

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed)

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites, @avakrahn, @maisulli

What have I been up to?

For starters, I finished my second year of my Writing undergrad last week and got two of my final grades back today (A+ baby)! For anyone who has taken online university, y’all already KNOW, but this year was so difficult. Would not recommend! Really proud of myself to have gotten through this absolute rollercoaster of a school term and am excited to get into some writing. That leads us to:

What have I been up to (writing edition)?

2021 started off so fast. By the time January hit, I was so consumed in my new semester that I did not have time to write Feeding Habits (my novel). In the first few days of the term, I managed to write between class, until I could no longer keep up! Essentially, I did not write any of that novel until exam season (last week), where I did manage to get in about 3k words in ~4 days.

Feeding Habits

I’m currently drafting what I believe will be the last chapter of this book (chapter 10: Swan Song). This chapter is so bizarre for a few reasons. It begins the book’s third part and also marks the shift back into Lonan’s head from Harrison’s. I originally thought this part would be much, much longer, with at least another five chapters to go, but quickly realized the book’s content was nearly completed. In my 4 day 3k palooza, I hit 50k in the book (the word count goal), and couldn’t see myself extending past 60k. Since then, I’ve made the loose decision to write this final chapter as a ~novella. Here are a few reasons why:

1. This chapter is structurally very strange.

I unashamedly shift from present to past to present to past past, and so much more every 12 words. I mapped out the timeline on a sheet of paper, and there were over 20 shifts in scenes (the chapter is only about 4400 words at the moment). The fictive past is incredibly important to this chapter, more important than the present, and I thought it would make more sense to not break randomly for a chapter so I could upkeep the consistent inconsistency of the chapter.

2. The chapter is very abstract

This stems from the structural changes, but there are paragraphs in this chapter of the fictive present that are loosely based in reality. They’re more poems than they are factual paragraphs, and keeping them all contained in one place (so a mega chapter/ novella) would reduce the most confusion!

3. There’s not much left to cover

Like I said above, Feeding Habits is on its last leg, lol! I know exactly where the book needs to end up, which is very, very soon from where I’m currently at on the timeline. Swan Song should cover what 2-4 chapters would cover in terms of arcs.

Feeding Habits and I have a really weird relationship, tbh! When I realized a few weeks ago that it’d been over a year since I started the book, I realized I just needed to finish it. Not that I want to rush (because I’ve taken longer than a year to write a book in the past), but that in order to move onto another project, I’d like to put this one behind first. This book has been the hardest thing I’ve ever written, and has reminded me there’s always a time to let go. This sort of scrounges up a conversation about letting this entire series go, which is certainly something I’ve been contemplating doing soon(ish). If this spinoff series gets a third book, that may or may not be the last Fostered book for a very long time (or ever)! There are many complex reasons to move on, but the main one is that I have other projects I’d like to focus on. This is not a definitive decision, but something I’ve certainly been thinking about!

Here are a few excerpts I wrote recently:

(TW: death, gore)

Dying feels like being a trout dangled out of water. Clinging to a hook. Mouth open. Scales iridescent in a final death cry. It’s like blood spurting up the knuckles, drowning out the flesh. It’s that moment on the long fall down when the clouds cup the body. Easy drifting. The sound a skull makes when it cracks is really just the afterthought.

(TW: death, gore)

Kill shot. Death blow. Coup de grace. Right in the heart. He feels it. The blood swelling, slicking his palms. He can do it. Reach into the cavity. Feel for the ribs. Part each bone. Then cup the humming heart. Stay there. Right. It’s never been easier.

Look at this PURE moment of Lonan holding a baby I CANNOT:

The grocery store was a fifteen-minute walk away. With Olivia clinging to his shoulder, Lonan was acutely aware that she could feel his heartbeat. Open valve. Close. Repeat. Hers pulsed right above his, a miniature drumming. The sky had bruised purple, misted with clouds. The evening air nipped his cheeks, so he made sure Olivia was securely fastened between him and his jacket. With wide eyes, she absorbed the drowsy suburbia, all its family cars pulling into driveways, all its couples heading back home after a sunset walk. When Lonan passed a young boy walking two golden retrievers, Olivia giggled, and didn’t stop, even after he’d spent fifty dollars on groceries and nearly the rest on a red Corolla marked with a MUST GO NOW sign outside a convenience store.

Let’s move on!

Mandy and Cora

I said I wouldn’t talk too much about this project, but I just love it so much?? I wanted to share my SUPER early thoughts on drafting a novel, especially one that is SO different from what I’ve been writing recently. I talked about this before in THIS post, but the summary about this project is that it’s a YA contemporary novel! Can’t believe I’m writing YA again, it’s been so long, but I also think it’s going so well. Everything I’ve learned as a literary fiction writer has been a fantastic primer for transferring back to the genre. Admittedly, I have not written much, but I’m having a lot of fun diving back into a lighter project. This is the summary:

Cora and Mandy are identical twins who’ve always done everything together. But when Mandy decides to go to university out of province after graduation and Cora doesn’t, Cora takes this as an opportunity to “test run” life apart from her sister for the first time by spending the summer at her aunt’s house across the country.

I have come up with a few ~things since I last talked about this project, mostly how I’d like to structure it. As of now, I’d like the book to be structured super loosely. I’m really pulling on a lot of inspo from “We Are Okay” by Nina LaCour (which is SO good), particularly how “nothing happens-y” that book is. This project (which I still need a title for!!) will be structured in short chapters that cover something Cora does on her own for the first time (without Mandy). For example, a few ideas are “Flight”, “Lunch”, and “Groceries”. “Flight” is the first “chapter” (they’re really kind of vignettes) where Cora flies to her aunt’s house. I still can’t determine if this book will take place in Canada. On one hand, I feel like there will be a wider audience if it takes place in the US (is that just an assumption??? maybe?? someone let me know!), but also: don’t really care too much about an audience at the moment! It could also take place in Canada (So Ontario and British Columbia). But if it does take place in the US, I think it may take place in NYC and San Francisco. The problem is: I really don’t like researching lol, and while I’ve been to NYC many times, I will definitely write it wrong! Does this really matter on a first draft?? absolutely not lol, but of course I am already overthinking!

But back to structure: I am looking forward to seeing what this looser structure will do. This is a story that is solely around one half of a set of twins learning to be her own person (and ultimately that she doesn’t have to completely forget her sister in order to do that), and as a twin who KNOWS this feeling, I think this structure of her doing things for the first time is SUPER relatable.

I was worried it might sound silly/worrying to others who are not twins that Cora hadn’t done things like “lunch” or “groceries” on her own, but I feel this so much as an identical twin myself! Not that she hasn’t done anything at all by herself, but as a twin, when you do something without your twin for the first few times, at least in my experience, you notice. If any twins are reading this--weigh in!

This story is the most personal thing I’ve ever written. It definitely is an OwnVoices book! Usually, I avoid details that are remotely similar to me because they make me uncomfortable haha, but with this book, it’s all me, lol! The characters are all Guyanese, which is SO fun because I’ve been planning what they eat (my fellow Caribbean peeps know: the FOOD!), which is so fun (yes they have pumpkin and shrimp, yes they have roti, yes they have pera, yes they have mithai). Every time I’ve gone to dabble at this book, or even think about it, I get incredibly emotional for this reason? I don’t exactly know why. I think this is a story I just so want to tell, with the culture I love SO much that I definitely struggled to love as a child. This is reclamation bitchessss!

Not going to lie tho: the prospect of writing ~a book~ is kind of freaky! I’m going to make the minimum word count for this book pretty short (50k) and see where it goes from there. I think I will focus on this project this summer! Originally I was going to write a literary novel this summer, but I think this one’s calling my name!

Here’s a pretty rough excerpt:

Try. I remind myself that’s what I’m doing after the flight attendant fills me a disposable cup of Coca Cola and all I can think of is Mandy and I shoving Mentos into a bottle of the stuff when we were twelve. Just me, wedged in the middle seat between an exchange student heading out for summer break and a middle-aged woman sipping a cocktail, thinking of Mandy and I bursting whole oranges in a blender when we were bored one Winter break as the plane dips through a wave of turbulence. Mandy and I dying our hair neon green with highlighters (didn’t work—our hair is too dark) as the plane lands on the tarmac. Mandy and I arguing so loud last month, we both lost our voices as I lug my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and shuffle off the plane and through the airport, searching for Aunt Vel.

Short Fiction

I’ve written so much short fiction this year! I have a goal to write a short story a month (they can range in length, as long as 1 is “complete”), so my short story brain has seriously been soaking it all up lately. Let’s chat my month to month breakdown so far:

January:

I wrote four stories in January! The first is a flash fiction piece called “Shark Swimming” that follows a young woman who attends a shark swimming class after breaking up with her girlfriend. I wrote this story for a “test” workshop for my fiction class, and it was based off the prompt “think about something you’re afraid to do and make the character do that thing”. I’m not particularly afraid of sharks, but had been wanting to use the title “Shark Swimming” for AGES (literally since 2018).

This story is one of my favourites. It’s only about 900 words, but I think there’s something profound in how mundanely specific it is. The entire story doesn’t even see the narrator swim with sharks once; it actually takes place fully in the sanctuary’s lobby. But I really love this narrator. This is the first story I’ve written in second person in a while, though I felt really connected to the unnamed narrator. She struggles with accepting that she truly is a “boring” person, and there’s something about the final image that really gets me!

I’ve been submitting this around, though it’s been rejected a handful of times. Hoping I can secure it at a magazine one day because I really love it!

The second story is “Joanne, I’ll Pray for You” which is actually a rewrite of one of my very first short stories (the first story I did not write for a class haha), “NYC in Your Apartment”. I LOVE this rewrite a lot, and also learned the original is not a very good short story! Revising this story taught me just how much I’ve learned in the 2 years I’ve been writing short fiction. Seeing the 2019 version versus the 2021 version side by side is fascinating because I essentially “gutted’ the 2019 version of its beginning and end until all that was left was the middle of the story (aka the actual story). AKA: this is the only story I’ve ever written with a hopeful ending and I cut out all the happy bits lol I am SO sorry (that arc is more for a novel or novella). That’s how this went from a 5k word story to an 1800 word story (my Submittable thanks me for this lol). A lot of details and scenes I included were more pertinent to a 3 act structure/novel, which of course short stories don’t often have because of their brevity. I love rambling about writing theory, and seeing that actually pay off is so fascinating!

(TW: trauma)

Like the original, this story follows Joanne, a woman in her early twenties, who spontaneously breaks up with her boyfriend. She claims the poltergeist haunting her drove her to this decision. The original draft focused a lot more on the traumatic events Joanne survives, but this draft really loosens them up. It focuses less so on the events themselves, and more on how Joanne’s life is affected. I found the details of these events were less important, and even sort of contradicted Joanne’s insistence she is being haunted. Instead, the poltergeist really takes more precedence in the new draft as a force Joanne doesn’t understand. That ambiguity, I think, is what the story truly needed.

I also centralized Joanne’s relationship with her boyfriend, Julian, here. Now don’t get me wrong, I really didn’t add anything to this draft. It was a matter of trimming the fat around it to leave the lean “meat” in the centre. But by removing that fat, I was able to emphasize what was most important here, and that was her relationship. Julian always played a really big role in the original draft, but I feel like his role as both a friend and partner to Joanne is much more emphasized since this draft literally is only two scenes now. Because there is less, there is more room for Joanne to reflect, which I’m happy about!

A final change I made was the setting and therefore the title. The original, which was “NYC in Your Apartment,” I couldn’t keep because I shifted the setting to Toronto (this is how I originally saw it, but in 2019 I just?? couldn’t?? write?? canlit??), and “Toronto in Your Apartment” sounded sort of gross LOL. The new title comes from a line in the story which I think is more relevant to the themes!

The next short story I wrote in January was “How to Spell Alpaca.” This one is super fun because I wrote it SO fast (in about 15 minutes or so). THIS is the writing update if you’re interested in learning more. I talked extensively about this one in that update, but some developments are that I dove into an edit a few weeks ago to really understand the core of the story. I’m still not quite there (this is just an intuitive feeling; I know not everything has “clicked), but I am really intrigued by the two mothers in the story, the narrator, and her newfound acquaintance, Violet. Both really struggle to understand their place as mothers (the narrator even declares she isn’t a mother anymore). The narrator, who is in her 50s, sees herself in Violet, who is much younger (~20s), and so she views Violet’s relationship with her daughter in a cautionary, yet mournful way, like she can see it will end up like her own relationship with her daughter, despite wanting the opposite. This is a really subtle story. I feel like if you blink, you’ll miss the message. But I think it’s compelling for that reason. It’s really a portrait of parenting and how to grapple with mistakes you may make that inevitably affect your children. Wow just unlocked the theme writing this lol.

The final story I wrote in January is “The Party,” which may be in my top 3 faves I’ve ever written. This story follows Aida, a recent divorcee in her ~40s. The day her divorce turns official, she moves into a new house and receives a party invitation addressed to the previous homeowner, yet RSVP’s anyway. At this party, she’s hoping to find some sense of noticeability, having struggled with being nondescript her whole life. Things seem quite normal at the party, until it gets bizarre.

I LOVE this story, y’all. Like “How to Spell Alpaca” it really delves into motherhood. Aida, our narrator, is incredibly hurt after her divorce. She now lives farther from her children she struggled to feel connected to in the first place, and doesn’t really know how to reignite her life. This party is a means to do that. This is the first story I’ve written that contains a “twist” which is strange because I really prefer stories that give us as much info as possible upfront, but yes, this one sort of twists.

February

I wrote one story in February, and that was “Protect the Young.” This title is SO changing when I think of a new one because it’s thematically incorrect, haha, but this story follows a woman in her late 40s whose daughter, Lindy, announces she is married the same day all their backyard chickens turn up dead. The discovery of dead chickens prompts our narrator to recall her ex-husband’s murder and the role her daughter may have played in his death.

I love this story so much! I think this would make a great closing for my short story collection. It just has that vibe! I wrote this for my second fiction workshop. I thought I had to hand in the story a week earlier than I had to, so I panicked and wrote this in one sitting! Little did I know, I did not need to do that lol but I’m very happy because this story is so fun. We get to learn more about Arnold (her ex), his relationship with Lindy, and how that translates to Lindy’s relationship with her new husband, Malcolm. I LOVE true crime (I listen to about 3-4 hours of case coverage daily), and this is my first “true crime” story. Because of that, I’m very sus of a few details that probably wouldn’t slide in actual investigatory work, so I’ll also be working on that in a revision. My professor also gave me a great suggestion that may alter the story’s structure a bit, though I look forward to toggling with it in the future.

March

In March, I was really on a Criminal Minds kick lol. I’ve been watching this show since I was seven (oops), and dove into a rewatch since it hit Disney+! This story, “Where to Run When the Lamb Roars,” is very clearly Rachel watching 5 episodes of CM a day. Oops! We follow 14-year-old Astrid as she and her older half brother kidnap a young girl to sacrifice for their yearly ritual.

I knew a few things going into this story, but the main thing was that I did NOT want to show any details of a potential murder (if one even occurs). I really wanted to keep all of those elements off the page because this story is not about those events, but about Astrid’s relationship with her brother. They are a murderous duo, with Astrid actually being the dominant partner. I wanted to explore that. I knew her brother, Fox, was more of a submissive partner in their team, even when he used to do this same thing with his father when he was much younger (chilling!), and so it was a task to explore how this young girl’s desire for violence works. The end actually comes right before the story starts, one could say, but I like it for this reason. It really made me contemplate the story by the time I finished it, and helped me examine what it really was about versus what it appeared to be about.

April

(TW: sexual content, non explicit)

I was so busy this month! Who knows if I’ll write a story last minute, but I did write one story this month called “Five Times Fast.” I wrote this during a “writing sprint” that was being hosted at a flash fiction workshop I recently took with one of my favourite writers ever, K-Ming Chang. I learned so much from this class, and am so happy I came out of it with a draft! This story is just over 300 words, so the shortest flash I’ve ever written, but I’m really happy with it. It was based off the prompt “describe the last time you or your character was naked.” In this case, the narrator has a “friends with benefits” relationship with Ricky who works at a laundromat. This story highlights a moment in this relationship (and also Ricky’s goofy personality lol). I really like it! Hopefully I’ll submit it to some magazines soon.

My short story collection

Very briefly I wanted to touch on my short story collection which I’ve titled “She is Also Dead.” I’ve been meaning to make a blog post on this, so look out for that in the coming months, but this collection is already at around 35k words (about 14 stories so far). The collection also surprisingly has a solid amount of flash fiction which is kind of fun! There’s definitely a range here, which is what I personally love in short story collections.

I feel very professional now that I have a ~collection chart. This is her:

(image description: A chart with the title “She is Also Dead.” It is broken into four columns: Story, Status, Word Count, and Published. Entry 1 - Story: Slaughter the Animal. Status: Revisions, Word Count, 3982, Published: N/A. Entry 2 - Story: Joanne, I’ll Pray for You, Status: Polished, Word Count: 1809, Published: N/A. Entry 3 - Story: Primary Organs, Status: Published, Word Count: 2342, Published: The Malahat Review. Entry 4 - Story: Faberge, Status, Polished, Word Count: 619, Published: N/A. Entry 5 - Story: The Wolf-Antelope Will Not Come for Us, Status, Polished, Word Count: 1556, Published: filling Station (forthcoming). Entry 6 - Story: How to Spell Alpaca, Status: revisions, Word Count: 1327, Published: N/A. Entry 7 - Story: Blink Twice for Final Judgement, Status: Polished, Word Count: 6572, Published: N/A. Entry 8 - Story: The Species is Dead, Status: Published, Word Count: 1208, Published: Minola Review. Entry 9 - Story: Shark Swimming, Status: Polished, Word Count: 907, Published: N/A. Entry 10 - Story: The Party, Status, Polished, Word Count 2339, Published: N/A. Entry 11 - Story: Fig, Status: Polished, Word Counter: 947, Published: N/A. Entry 12 - Story: Protect the Young, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4128, Published: N/A. Entry 13 - Story: Where to Run When the Lamb Roars, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 2174, Published: N/A. Entry 14 - Story: Phantom Limbs, Status: Revisions, Word Count: 4844, Published: N/A.) /end image description.

This order is DEFINITELY not permanent (at this point whenever I write a story, I just fit it randomly into this chart lol), and some of the info is outdated (for example, Slaughter the Animal is now polished!!! thank god!!!). But just an idea of what I’m thinking of including.

This is the summary so far:

In SHE IS ALSO DEAD, characters are pushed to act on their gravest impulses. A small town turns murderous when their local invasive species, the Janices, begin dying. A child struggles to understand her mother’s suicide. A college dropout who insists she’s being haunted by a poltergeist unexpectedly breaks up with her boyfriend. A mother acknowledges her daughter’s murderous tendencies after her backyard chickens mysteriously die. A young girl caters the funeral of a girl rumored to be killed by a wolf-antelope. A newly-divorced mother RSVP’s to a bizarre party she was not invited to, and a murderous brother and sister upkeep their yearly tradition of abducting a young girl. These stories follow characters who navigate death, violent desires, womanhood, and loss, both self-imposed and otherwise.

This is also so subject to change as I may pull and add stories to the collection!

I think I’m going to leave this update here for now! I’ve written TONS of poetry too, but I honestly ~hate my poetry right now lol, so! Hope you enjoyed this chill rambly update. Hope writing has going well for you all! All the best!

--Rachel

#writing #writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #writingupdates

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lluvguts · 3 years

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Cool Blue ; Chapter Six

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

a heart could come so undone

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

☽ warnings: internalized homophobia

☽ fic masterlist

☽ a/n: thank you all so much for 2k hits on ao3! this all means so much to me and it really empowers me to continue with this story, even if i don't want to at times :) i would really appreciate any of my tumblr readers to go and leave a kudos or a comment just to tell me if you liked it, and make me smile <3 my ao3

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

Alberto was a storm quietly brewing beneath a thin façade of calm. His pinched brow and frown being the only signs of his mulling, his stewing, as the sun beat with ruthless fervor down across his back, already peeling and burnt, while he rowed back to Portorosso. To the real world. A life that made sense, one filled with humans and cars and houses, a bustling busy that progressed as the town woke up.

One that wasn't made for him.

He looked back to the island as he pushed the oars roughly in front of him, rowing back, and grimaced without thinking at the crumbling tower at its top. Signora Aragosta had told him that island belonged to her and her beloved, a haven for a young girl and her sea monster to sit and talk and discover themselves. He had stood in the remains of that tower, only hours before speeding down the steep, grassy slope of the island to Luca, his sea monster, and observed what little traces of their lives that were left. Children's books with frayed spines (when Signora Aragosta had told Alberto she'd taught her how to read) cracked flower pots with their centers hollowed out and small inscriptions Alberto could carefully trace on the convex cobblestones of the tower wall. Writings, words and phrases and, Alberto realized with a flush of heat, love poems that her Concetta had scribbled in messy, mostly-faded scrawl along the stones. But there were other parts of the tower, less beautiful signs of aging. Mounds of tree branches and rubble dusted over the tower floor, where time and bad seasons had caused parts of the inner walls to cave in. Sunlight drifting through the insides, illuminating those professions of love along the walls and warming Alberto's toes until he had to pull them away to stop thinking about it.

She said that they loved that place...so why did they abandon it so quickly? It was a different time then, Alberto must have known, but even still the sea folk and the human world were unable to coexist--let alone love each other.

His muscles gripped and shuddered in his stomach involuntarily and Alberto clenched the oars to keep his lips from trembling.

Then again, Alberto mused with little humor as he continued to row and glare into the waves, she had said a lot of things, but none of her comforting words had prepared him for what had really happened.

At this time in the afternoon the waters were calm, just a lazy caress on the boat's sides like old lovers and cast dim reflections of the sun in alternating lines of cyan along Alberto's forearms. The gentle waves were endless, if Alberto looked down he didn't think about his face staring back at him but rather what was beneath the surf, or more so who.

Was what Luca had done, what he had said, the same as those words on the tower walls?

His behavior was so...animal. It wasn't like him. But did Alberto truly know what to expect from someone that wasn't human?

Something landed into the ocean with an inaudible plink and Alberto saw in the reflection of the deep waters that he was crying. He hated himself for what he had felt, only an hour earlier. Absolutely dreaded thinking over it.

Luca's touch, so curious and bashful in the beginning. That was normal, that was something Alberto could understand. He had only grinned at their playful banter back and forth, like they'd used to. But as soon as he'd let his stupid fingers wander just to touch Luca's scales he knew every second after that moment was going to happen much too fast.

Alberto didn't even know what he was doing at the time, or why he chose to torture Luca like that. The boy was whimpering at his hands on him and had practically collapsed into Alberto's lap, so obviously it was only fair that Luca had freaked out and went full on sea monster. All he heard in his ear were Luca's uneven breaths mixed with his own, and the warm press of his teeth on his neck, with just a trace of saliva from Luca's tongue.

His stomach twisted at the memory, making his legs ache and that dull throb return in his shorts.

"Damn it," Alberto huffed, closing his eyes tightly and breathing through his teeth.

Alberto didn't know what he meant himself, when he pushed Luca off of him either. His own reaction to the touches had surprised him so thoroughly that he was afraid of what would have happened if he'd let it continue, and let Luca's words sink into his brain and maybe his skin, too.

Portorosso was fast approaching, and Alberto hopped off one side of the boat, tugging it along in the shallow waves to moor it to the dock. He tied the ropes in haste and bit his tongue when the old cord rubbed painfully along his already-sore palms.

"'Berto! You idiota! You couldn't hide from me for long!"

Alberto jumped at the voice, immediately thinking of Ercole, but as he looked up from his raw hands he only saw Giulia above him at the metal railing, waving her arms around.

"I wasn't hiding from you!" Alberto called up. "I was...out doing something!"

His word choice made him cringe. Giulia narrowed her expectant brown eyes and reached out a hand once Alberto had walked up the stone incline to greet him. But instead of a hug, Giulia used Alberto's hand clasped in her own to hold him steady and slap his cheek.

"Shit! What was that for?" Alberto cursed, freeing his hand in a jerk and pressing it to his hot cheek.

"For keeping secrets from me! Papa told me all about your girlfriend!" Giulia was near-shouting, and a few people wandering the streets turned. Alberto's face reddened another degree, if the handprint left by Giulia wasn't enough to show for it.

"She's not my girlfriend, Giulia!" Alberto spat. He craned his neck over at the boat just to double check then followed her down the seaside railing to their house.

"So what, you made up a fake girlfriend then to fool Papa? Is that it, Alberto?" Giulia looked at her brother out of the corner of her eye, smiling to herself. Her tone was light, so Alberto had no need to worry that she was being serious...probably.

Alberto spluttered. "Why would I lie to Papa? When have I ever lied to you or him, ever?" His heart was beating at a frantic pace in his chest, and if Giulia saw the sweat on the back of his neck he was done for.

"Let's see," Giulia stuck her tongue between her teeth, then counted off her fingers. "You lied about the orders that one time just so Papa let you go play soccer in the courtyard...you lie about your chores all the time. I think the amount of times he lets you get away with it is worse though."

"I do not lie about my chores! How can I lie about those when he sees the numbers every evening?"

Giulia swatted the air, and then actually swatted at Alberto, before letting out a shriek.

"Oh! Did I tell you that Luna, Machiavelli's mistress, is going to have kittens!" She splayed her hands out in front of her to emphasize the excitement, and it was just like her to lose her focus even if it was originally about teasing her own brother.

Alberto shrugged. "Papa isn't going to like it."

"Papa will come around in time, fratello. Besides, Luna's owner was very...understanding."

"Oh?"

Giulia nodded, her cheeks were flushed from her anger and the summer sun, but instantly darkened. "Yeah. There's a girl who lives a few houses across from us, by the Gelataria with her aunt. We met last week, but I saw her again this morning when her cat was looking for Machiavelli, but he was pent up in your room, cause you're stupid and left the door closed."

"Machi actually likes my room, unlike yours." Alberto said indignantly.

"I wouldn't call that liking. I think he tolerates being around you because you feed him."

"Ugh, Giulia! Stop changing the subject and just tell me about this stupid girl and her cat!"

Giulia flung out her hand and punched Alberto in the gut. "She is not stupid. She's...she's..." She trailed off, looking at the sand stuck between the stones beneath her sandals.

"Lovely."

"Giulia, you're blushing."

"Yeah, so?" She countered, glaring up at Alberto with her cheeks a deep rouge. "She's pretty. But you wouldn't understand...I don't think, um, Papa would approve if I liked her. As more than, you know. A neighbor."

Alberto felt so relieved he could cry. But he laughed instead, a short nervous giggle that dissolved into a long, airy chuckle that came from deep within his tightly-wound heart.

"What's so funny, hmm?: Giulia, despite her height, tried to size Alberto up by shoving his shoulder and leaning forward to get into his space. "Y'know, I wouldn't have told you if you were just going to laugh at me."

"No, Giulia! This, this is perfect!" Alberto didn't know exactly what he was doing, but all of his previous tension ebbed away as he took Giulia's hands and squeezed them with glee in his own.

"Me having un cotta with the girl across the street?" Giulia frowned at him.

"God, no." Alberto laughed, bringing his sister closer to look into her eyes and make sure she was listening. "Lucia isn't...uh, she's not, she's not a girl."

Giulia's light eyebrows were pulled low at that, as she curled her lip up in confusion and stared at Alberto's face. "What do you mean? Lucia can't not be a girl, her name is...oh....Oh. Alberto! You really were lying to Papa!"

He figured that was enough confirmation of Giulia's understanding and nodded slowly. She placed her palm where she'd slapped him and rubbed her thumb along the welt, breaking her gaze away to think.

"For once, I think I'm okay with you lying," Giulia mused. "But just this one time, Alberto! And I mean it! You'll have to make up for it by letting me meet him. What's his name, anyway?"

"You didn't tell me her name, so why should I tell you his?" They were standing outside the gate of their backyard, but Alberto stood in the way of the latch and beamed down smugly at Giulia.

"It adds mystery, alright big guy? Maybe I like that you don't know her name. Then you won't tease me about it."

"Fine then. I won't tell you Luca's name either."

Giulia beamed. "Luca! What a beautiful name! I bet he's very handsome, Alberto."

He bit his tongue and jammed one free hand into his pants pocket.

"N-No! I didn't say anything," Alberto gasped and clamped his hand over Giulia's mouth. "Don't tell Papa okay? I'm not...I don't think I'm ready."

Giulia licked Alberto's palm with a devilish grin and he groaned in disgust and pulled back.

"That's okay, I'm not really ready either." Giulia grabbed Alberto's slobbery hand and guided them into the side yard, swinging their arms.

So pretty...you smell so good, Alberto.

He almost stopped in his tracks, but Giulia was pulling them along so he trailed behind her, attached by their intertwined hands.

Luca's tail had twined around Alberto's ankle in such a quick and demanding way he felt his breath catch.

Please. I need you.

The words still trickled through his head, and soon the phantom feelings returned too. Cool scales dripping in sea water soon replaced by the feeling that Luca was burning up, swallowed whole by his own desperate pleas and touches.

"You okay, Alberto?" Giulia had stepped into the house, but Alberto's feet were pressed to the stone steps, unmoving. He thought that he could hover here at the threshold of the doorway with Luca's scent still lingering on his skin and the immense weight of odd passion forever, just so he didn't forget. Was this what Signora Aragosta had talked about when she first knew? When she first knew?

Alberto shook his head for Giulia, smiling and apologizing. "Yeah, we're good."

#luca #luca movie #luca fanfiction #luberto #luberto fanfiction #luberto fanfic #luca paguro #luca x alberto #alberto scorfano #alberluca #luca and alberto

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capribron · 3 years

Text

I don't know if anyone cares but I've found out I've stored up a bunch of Russsian songs that in my opinion remind of Boreo and The Goldfinch a lot so I'm gonna make a thread of translations with a small commentary from me. Tell me if I make any grammatical or spelling mistakes!

I want to start with this one, Зло (Zlo) by Электрофорез which to me unfolds the same idea as "Or—like Boris—is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name?" It correlates with Boris's criminal stuff and Theo joining him in it and alongside with references to the Russian culturally significant personalities and these Russian folk chants notes expresses the widespread idea of the Russian enigmatic unpredictability and impulsiveness fused with tragic sadness. It also reflects Theo's feeling of anxiety, of doom and of the wrong thing presenting constantly and breaking out inevitably with the loss of control.

If you're still reading, then here it is!!

Evil

I guess you won't remember

All of my face features

But I know your house

Is by the tram ring.

You are beautiful like a fjord,

Like the bicycle kick.

I'm afraid my love

Is a bit ill.

But what if the urge to do evil

Gets a little stronger?

If there's a gun on the wall*,

Then someone must die.

Yes, I've never held a rifle in my hand

And never played Fall Out.

In this life

I have, yet, never died.**

I know what you drink,

Whom you sleep with and what you lie about,

How your days have been dragging

Devoid of tears, of life, of love.***

But what if the urge to do evil

Gets a little stronger?

If you've loaded the gun,

Then it's too late already.

Oh, someone's weeping behind the wall,

Maybe it's the house goblin?

Oh, someone cried out behind the wall.

We're stuck in this together, you and I.

You and I, oh, you and I,

You and I, oh, you and I.

But what if the craving to do evil

Gets a little stronger than me?

Too bad for me,

I can't resist.

What if the urge to do evil

Has gotten stronger than me?

If you've got gun in your hands,

Then be ready to shoot.

*the Chekhov's gun dramatic principle articulated by the outstanding Russian writer A. P. Chekhov states that every element in a story must be necessary, and irrelevant elements should be removed. Elements should not appear to make "false promises" by never coming into play. In the original articulation of the idea, in general, if there's a gun on the wall, it must go off. In this song, I'd say, the necessity and soundness transforms into subjection to fate.

**It is not a direct quotation but I can say it kind of references to S. A. Esenin's "Farewell, my friend" which I also recommend reading because it is also kind of Boreo???? I mean, look:

Farewell, my friend. Please, let me go.

With the heart, you're beating in my chest.

We are parting now, and we know —

It's for good. One day we'll find it best.

Farewell, my friend — no shaking hands, no crying.

Do not sadden your eyebrows too much.

There's nothing new about dying

In this life. Let alone this life as such.

***A quote from "the Sun of the Russian poetry" A. S. Pushkin, one of his most well-known poems "The wondrous moment of our meeting".

Soooooo yes, I hope someone made it to the end and maybe even enjoyed it although the fandom is not in it's most alive state.

#the goldfinch #theodore decker #theo decker #boris pavlikovsky #boreo #finn wolfhard #oakes fegley #poetry #russian poetry #Spotify

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collecting-stories · 4 years

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Heartbeat - Rafe Cameron

Request: Hey, I was hoping if you could do reader x Rafe inspired by Heartbeat by Childish Gambino? Also I freaking love your writing!!

A/N: I’m not really a Childish Gambino fan so this was me grasping at straws to write this honestly. Pretty much angst.

Outer Banks Masterlist

_ ⭐︎*.・✶ ☾ ◦*.⭐︎_

Post graduation you saw less of the actual island than you would’ve liked. You came around for all the expected holidays and birthdays but otherwise you stayed in Chapel Hill. It was easier that way, you could avoid all the people on the island that you didn’t want to see, make-believe that your heart was totally in this relationship but you knew you weren’t. 

You’d gotten engaged four months ago and, inviting everyone she could think of, your mom sent an invitation to the Camerons. One that Rafe intercepted. Old high school flames never die out or whatever cheesy line your mom was keen on saying when you lost your literal train of thought at the sight of him. 

“Liam’s not a bad guy,” she tried to reassure you, “I just think it’s such a shame you and Rafe broke things off. I always thought you two would end up together.” 

You almost did. 

You ended up in his bed the morning after your party. Not what your mother had in mind but it had happened all the same. And you tried so hard to regret it, he’d told you enough times that he ‘didn’t do commitment’ that you didn’t need to hear it from him again, or throw away an entire relationship because of a stupid mistake like hooking up with your ex after too much wine.

But it wasn’t just too much wine and Rafe wasn’t just an ex. He was that ex. The one you would throw everything away for if he told you he wanted more than just sex. He was the reason you stayed away from the island, because you knew once you opened that door you would never be able to close it again.

The first time he texted you was after the night you spent together. Something dumb that you shouldn’t have even wanted to respond to, especially when you were sitting at the island club having brunch with your mom, dad, and Liam. But the text came through and you quickly replied. A series of less that appropriate banter followed until he one upped your response.

-you look so sexy right now-

Not the greatest love poem on earth but there was always something about Rafe. Something that had you in the bathroom stall with him while your fiancé was sitting out on the deck with your parents.

“I can’t keep doing this.” You insisted, fixing your dress as you stood in the stall with him, still a little high from the moment even as the gravity of it settled around you.

“So don’t.” Rafe shrugged.

As much as you wanted to scream you couldn’t even be surprised by his comment. It was exactly what you’d come to expect out of him. You wanted so desperately for him to tell you to throw all this away. You didn’t need a wedding, you just needed Rafe. But he didn’t need you and he made that abundantly clear.

He stayed away for a week and then it was like he had never left.

“You look amazing.”

Your eyes shut and you bit down on your lip. If you opened your eyes you would’ve seen Rafe in the reflection of the mirror, standing behind you with the door closed. The attendant had left you in the dressing room alone to think over the white strapless gown you had on. A dream dress, really, but you weren’t entirely sure it was your dream or your dress.

“Rafe, what are you doing here?” You asked, crossing your arms, careful of the fabric, as you turned to face him.

“Heard you were trying on dresses, wanted to offer my opinion.” He shrugged.

“I don’t need your opinion...the dress isn’t for you.”

He frowned, walking over to you and turning you around again so that you could face the mirror. You looked away from him, trying not to meet his eyes in the mirror as he laid his hands on your hips and tilted his head to kiss your neck and shoulder.

“That’s okay, I care more about what’s underneath the dress.” He said, lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. You felt your eyes begin to flutter closed before you yanked yourself out of his grasp, pushing him away.

“God, Rafe, get off of me!” You snapped. “I already told you, I’m not doing this anymore! I’m getting married-”

“So you keep telling me.”

“I’m fucking standing here in my dress for god’s sake! I don’t want to keep having this conversation over and over again. I told you at the club that it’s over Rafe...I’m done doing this with-”

“Leave him.”

“What?” You stopped talking, eyes wide as you looked at Rafe in surprise, mind trying to grasp his offer. It was generous to call it that, as an offer usually contained an actual offer.

“Leave him. Move back to the island. Stay with me.” He requested.

You felt like hours passed as you stood there in the small dressing room with him, trying to read anything from his expression. Finally you shut your eyes, covering your hands with your face as you tried not to cry in front of Rafe, “you son of a bitch. You know how hard it is for me to walk away.”

“So don’t.”

“Why? So you can pick and choose when you want me around? No. Rafe, get out. I’m getting married.”

“Okay,” he nodded, smirking as he looked you over again. You crossed your arms and glared at him as he moved toward you again. He pulled your arms away from your body, putting them up on your shoulders as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Rafe-”

He hummed, lips brushing against your throat as you tilted your head back. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

“It won’t work Rafe,” you insisted, even as your shoulders relaxed.

“I’m just stating a fact,” he replied, continuing to kiss along your shoulders and neck. “I bet your douche fiancé doesn’t even know what to do with you.” His hands grazed your sides as you gave in, kissing him.

You knew it was a bad idea. Not just because you were in a public dressing room while your mother and future mother-in-law in the waiting room, ready to judge every dress but because you were engaged, and supposed to be happy, with an entirely different man. You needed to let go of the past and the island and Rafe but every time you tried you couldn’t bring yourself to walk away. Not now that you had been given a taste of him.

A knock on the dressing room door had you pulling away from Rafe, wiping at your mouth as you stepped around him to answer the door. “Yeah?”

“Are you still trying things on honey? Do you need help?” Your mother’s voice carried through the small space.

“No, I’m okay. I’ll be out in a minute.” You promised.

You listened to her walk away, heels clicking, as you let out a breath and turned to face Rafe, “you need to go.”

“You sure?”

“Just...go.” You insisted, sitting down on the short bench that sat against the wall, just inside the door.

Rafe nodded, walking over to the door and grabbing the handle before he looked down at you. “I meant what I said before.” He said.

“You never mean anything you say.”

taglist: @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife @freckled-and-daydreaming @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097 @tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27 @dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle @thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger @hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana @tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @ssprayberrythings @jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron @haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @celestialmaybank @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62 @calm-rejects @balletandyuzu @oh-annaa @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn @pcterparxer @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee @crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians @buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette @smiithys @dontjinx-it @outerbanksbro @mysticsthinking @heavenlymama @rudy-pankow-needs-an-oscar @babymatilda @raekenliar @lemur46 @haute-shawn @calums-betch

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frodopotter7 · 2 years

Text

Part 9

Back to: Part 8

Back to: the series

a/n: The poem in this chapter is written by me. It is a poem I written just for this book. I hope you like it.

Warning: This chapter contains angst and self harm. Please don’t read this when you have problems with that.The gif should already show you what you are expecting.

(This warning was spoken by someone with hsp. I’m high sensitive and I write this… Yeah I’m difficult. Anyways have fun reading)

(Huge gab for your safety)

Paul Simon is a mystery himself. Paul Simon is something that is just too impossible to understand. But what did this all mean? Honestly, Paul himself, saw himself as pretty useless. Just for a shadow. In the night of this Friday Art was sleeping peacefully in his bed, but Paul was restless. Did he ever had been restful? He just sat down with his guitar in the dark bathroom. Too many questions. At last he wasn't alone anymore. But Art wasn't like him. Paul had thought too much. He had said too much. He had lived too much. That's what Paul thought will pulling up his sleeves and toke out a razor blade. Life is boring right? Working for the darkness was wrong right? Has he ever seen the light after all? The silver sharpie metal made little scratches in his flesh. Ugly he was. Small and ugly. Everyone feared him or just didn't noticed him. Art was so perfect. An angle in all kind of ways. He was the cutest person on earth and his voice. Art's character was so sweet and friendly. Art probably had millions of lovers. He probably even was in a relationship with someone. Probably a girl who looked and acted much better than Paul. This bloody Amor had punched his useless love cursing arrow right into Paul's ice cold heart. He had brocken the stone in Paul and now Paul was breaking apart. The love was too much. Artie was too much for him. "Trough the corridors asleep my mind dances and leps in confution. I don't know what is real. I can't touch what I feel and I hide behind the shield of my illusion. So I continue to continue to pretend. My life will never end and flowers nevertheless bend with the rainfall. The mirror on the wall casts an image dark and small, but I'm not sure at all it's my reflection. I'm blinded by the lights of god and truth and right and I wonder in the night without direction. So I continue to continue to pretend my life will never end and flowers never bend with the rainfall.", Paul sang and softly played his guitar and made this as quiet as possible, since he didn't wanted to wake Art. The red liquid ran down his arms. It made little spots on his guitar. But where the red toughed the wood it turned into a dark black mud. He dropped the guitar aside and got back to the sink. He let the bold ran down. As the red touched the white ceramic it turned black. He opened the tap. The black diluted in the water. Paul wanted to control it. Why couldn't he be normal? He just needed to control it. Was it so difficult to just turn it back to red blood. Paul pressed his eyes together. Human. He was a human. The black turned into red again. Paul started to cry, but he deserved this. He was nothing more than a ugly, cruel, non human fag, who was alone in life. Alone forever.

The glow of love has stolen my heart.

The smock has covered my mind.

Firth I fooled this feeling.

Now I let my hand closer to the flames.

Some other might be cleverer,

let himself be gently warmed

Just to become the fire itself.

But I, the dumm little lamb,

That never ever stand

Even near the fire place,

I put my whole hand quickly in the fires throught

But the fire can't be tempted

Can't be trained by such cold and foolish hand.

It punches all around

My life fells on the ground

The brutal punch of fate

Come right into my faces

The flames are burning me and my hungry hand down

Now I even lost my ice crown.

Oh, if only I had seen it before.

Love has to be taken with caution

Or it will kill you with her blinding poison

Because who speaks to soon of love

And starts to be too passionate'

Will lose his breath under her light weight.

Love makes you fly high, too high.

The fire will melt your ice cold wings and make all once kings

With a golden castle and ring

To a farmer on a dusty death farm.

My heart, body and brain,

destroyed by this self harm,

Lays in endless pain

But I still loved him. Forever

Absent minded the metal glitch out of control. It cut right in Paul's waist. He winced and dropped in the ground. Shit, he shouldn't have exegrated it. "Shadow",he winced quietly. But the respond was nothing more then the sound of silent. Paul grabbed a towel but it just started to burn and hurt evenmore. This was his end he thought. He held the wounds and tried to cover them but it all was useless. The blood came out like a waterfall. Suddenly as Paul had gaven up he heard someone coming from the room next door. The door opened and Paul in the dark bathroom, saw this beatiful siluette with this fluffy hair. His rescuer. The light made him appear like an angle. "Paul!", he yelled in shock as Art turned on the light. "My angle!", Paul whispered with the last strength he had. "You dumbass! One time! Can't I go one time on the toilet at night without anyone doing stupid stuff?! I told you that this is so...!", Art screamed furious. He sank down on the ground next to Paul. Then he washed the towel as fast as he could. "I don't want to lose another one like this!" But Paul couldn't listen. He was to busy, crying the pain away. Art's voice said something. It sounded relaxing for Paul. "When you worry...", Art started as he pushed the wet towel on Paul's wounds to clean them. "Feeling small." He put compresses on the wounds and started to cover all with the band aid around Paul's arms.

Art wanted to make things from the past better now. But appearendly he was such an horrible friend that everyone around him, seemed to rather kill themself than spending anouther minute with him. Paul started to howl. "Shhh it's alread. I'm here." Art said comforting and continued singing. Paul crawled up in Art's arms and Art felt how weak he was.

Such a powerful demon defeated by his own emotions. Art's stronge breast felt so calming. Paul felt how the death wanted him and his body nearly was empty. But then suddenly there was Artie's voice. Paul heared the appearing of wings and a bang against the door of the shower, since it was way too eng in here. Paul focused only on Artie. On his breath. His worried breath that let his chest go up and down, up and down. His heart that bet fast in his perfect own rhythm. His voice that heeled everything. But Paul knew that Artie's voice could never heel his broken heart. Paul felt a warm tickling in his arms. As he toke a short glance down on them. He saw that their were shining under the band aid. Art's magical angle power had rescued him. But all the light and love made Paul dizzy and although he was despreadly tried of staying awake, the sleep got him. He only felt being picked up and placed in Art's soft bed. After he heared someone saying:"I'm here for you Paul. I'm always there for you." Was that the shadow? But it didn't sounded like Paul's shadow. Whatever it was, Paul couldn't think about it, because he already passed out and disappeared in the worlds of dreams.

On the next morning it was Paul who woke up at firth. Art must have pulled him in a close hug, since the firth thing he saw was this red pyjama from Art. Art held him tight and Paul felt safe. But then he knew that this was nothing more than Artie protecting him from his stupid act of dying. Softly he pushed Art aside. The Garfunkel purred in his sleep and then turned around to the other side. Oh, he was so beautiful. His whole body seemed holy and untouchable for Paul. "Oh, Paul! Focus! We have to rescue the world. My world!" And there he was again. The darkness was back. "Hello darkness." "Paul! Am I a joke to you? All these years we worked together and now this. You are disappointed me." "I'm sorry." "Come on Simon. My enemy find him. You are not dumb. Forget this Artie. What does he give you?" "He rescued me." "Yeah, because you still know information he needs to know. You are not even his friend." "But you can't say that. I know him now. You have no idea." "Paul I am you! I'm a part of you. It's you who argues with yourself and this distracts your mind and your power." "Who are you talking to?", a sleepy voice asked from the other side of the bed. "Myself. My friend the darkness." He heard a loud sight and Art asking:"What ever. What's the time?" "Nine o'clock." "Great. Get ready we need to find your family and dress nice and pack all you need. We are going to a concert tonight." "A concert?" "Yes, to a someone called 'Disturbed'. Roy gave me the tickets. I have no idea. But we need to go there. So get ready." Artie sounded annoyed. "Obviously he is annoyed after you nearly killing yourself.",the shadow whispered with a wind blow. "Shut up!" "I haven't even talked to you.", Art exclaimed and starred angrily at Paul. "Not you. The shadow." "You are just crazy.", Art pointed out silently under his breath. But Paul heard and he knew Art was right with that. "And you are not better! You are hanging out with a crazy man!", Paul said louder than planned. "Paul! You can drive to your family alone if your are annoying me more!" "I would!" "You always need to have the last word.", Art grumbled while dressing up. Paul looked away. He didn't wanted to get distracted by this beautiful idiot. "Of course. But I only tell the truth." "Because you don't know a lie. You don't know anything at all." Art was right with that. Paul was stubborn, but he better kept quiet now. Art got a good old white suit with a black tie and Paul turned on a black tux. They didn't spoke a word. They didn't spoke a word as they had breakfast, as they got down to Loran, as they drove with Loran and as they arrived. "Here we are you silent birds. Kew Gardens Hill." "Thanks Loran. You sure this is correct?" "Yes." "Suspicious. My parents also life two houses further." "Funny. The world is small.", Loran laughed as they got out of the car and he drove away and disappeared. Art wanted to ring the doorbell of the red blockhouse with the little parking area. All the houses looked the same in the little street. "No.", Paul exclaimed. "Why? This is your chance." "No, what if they don't want me. They forgot me so they don't need me. Maybe this isn't my family at all. I don't have a family." "Oh, Paul.", Art said with a soft tune. He just couldn't be angry on this little cutie for very long. Art hugged his Paul. "It's okay. Just be brave, Paulie." "I love you Art.", Paul whispered. "What?" "Nothing." Art raised his eyebrows, but instead of saying anything he pushed the doorbell.

Someone opened. Paul's jaw dropped and Art looked from one Simon to the other. The man also looked confused. "Ähm hi. How can I help?" Paul couldn't say anything. This man was his brother. There was no doubt. They both looked very similar. The other man was maybe just some years younger than Paul. "Loran Michaels said he knows you. And my friend Paul was searching for his family. And I think we are right here.", Art responded as he noticed that Paul wasn't able to speak. "Oh, of course. Come in. Loran told me about the other man called Paul." "Eddie.", Paul whispered and tiny tears watered his eyes. Eddie went inside and called for a Lou and a Belle. As they just wanted to step inside Art looked at the pictures in the entrance. One was empty and the others included an baby who was alone in the photo. But the rest seemed to empty. Also in the family pictures there was always one spot empty. But as Paul made a step into the house a boy appeared on the pics. The little baby wasn't alone anymore. And another picture of a baby with the name Paul under it. A boy with a baseball in his hands. And now everything seemed complete again. "Paul?", the man turned around and a older man with his wife came down. "Mr. and Mrs. Simon?", Art exclaimed. No. Of course this home was so familiar. Eddie ran to Paul and hugged him. "Oh brother were have you been?" Paul was obviously confused with this situation, but hugged back. "Eddie. My dear brother. How could I ever have forgotten you." "Garfunkel nice to see you again.", the woman, who was Belle Simon said friendly as she saw Art. But the parents stoped to talk as they both saw their lost son. "Paulie? Lou. It's Paul! He has returned home." "Paul! Where have you been?", the father asked a little bit stricter. "Nowhere.", Paul exclaimed and Art knew that this was actually the truth. Suddenly Art felt a horrible headache. It felt like something in his brain didn't want him to know this. Art whispered to Paul, who was pretty busy greeting his family. "Ehem... I will just go a little outside." Paul just nodded.

What did this all meant? Art lighten a cigaret and thought about all this. It was a little too much. Paul had his family. Yes, but why. Why this all? The questions got more and more? And he ended up asking: Why me and Paul? Then suddenly Art heard a voice. It was the voice of a little kid and it seem to come from everywhere. "I'm lost. Help me! Don't let go!" And then there was the other voice. Another kid. "I won't let go! Never! Forever!" The kid cried. "Game over." The other kid whispered. "Don't forget me you idiot... I miss your voice." Art went on the ground. What did this mean? Here were no kids. Art hesitated and rushed around as he felt a cold hand on his shoulder. But it was only Paul. Paul tangled his head again. This was his way of asking:"What's wrong?" "I'm fine. Let's just go. The show is going to start soon." Paul didn't respond and just followed Artie, who called Loran. In the car Art just kept silent while Paul had a deep talk with Loran about the family Simon.

For Art was clear: He might know what family Paul is from and Paul might know his background story, but the puzzle just seemed to not fit together.

#simon and garfunkel #paul simon #art garfunkel #simon & garfunkel #simon and garfunkel au #fanfic #mystery thriller #mystery #simon and garfunkel fanfiction #poetry #my poem #angst #self harm #blood #demon #detective

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pentanguine · 3 years

Text

Favorite books of 2020

So....about five months ago now, I drafted a list of my favorite books of 2020, and then I, uh, didn’t finish it. It languished in a draft gathering dust and I forgot that it existed.

But now it’s done! It’s hideously late and also out of date, because I’d change many of the rankings now (see below), but I decided to keep them in the original order to reflect how I felt when I actually meant to post this.

Gideon the Ninth- What can I say about this book that hasn’t already been said? It’s like nothing else I’ve read before, in the most unabashed, off-the-walls, grandiose way possible. It’s incredibly complex, well-written, goth, and full of memes. There are, indeed, lesbian necromancers in space.

Harrow the Ninth- I read this 500+ page book in one day and didn’t notice an earthquake while doing so, if you consider that an endorsement. There’s so much going on here it almost feels like it shouldn’t work, and yet it does, brilliantly—it’s so intricately plotted you’ll want to reread it immediately because there’s no way to pick up on everything your first time through.

The Starless Sea- This is just a magical delight of a story, with prose that flows like honey: slow, sweet, and delicious. The story unfolds like a series of wonders nested one inside the other, with each section adding another layer of whimsy and metafiction. It’s half a dream, and half a maze.

Young Miles (The Warrior’s Apprentice/The Vor Game)- The Miles books (the early ones, especially) are wild and unrepentant romps through outer space, and reading them was one of the highlights of 2020 for me. When I finished the Young Miles omnibus, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken such pure delight in a book. Even the heavier, more thoughtful moments were part of a well-told, enjoyable story.

The Stone Sky- Speaking of heavy and thoughtful books…The Broken Earth Trilogy is definitely not a light undertaking, but it’s just a masterpiece of world- and character-building. The Stone Sky is the final installment, and it does not pull a single punch in delivering what the previous books have been building towards.

This Is How You Lose the Time War- I keep instinctively wanting to call this a novel in verse, although I think it’s technically an epistolary novel with prose-poem tendencies. In any case, the writing is lovely—lush, vivid, sensual, romantic. I recommend reading this one with your poetry glasses on.

Cordelia’s Honor (Shards of Honor/Barrayar)- I tried to limit myself to one book per author on this list, but I didn’t succeed here. I loved the Vorkosigan saga too much, and I had to include the omnibus about Miles’s mother, Cordelia, whose life and personality could easily be the focus of another half-dozen volumes. (And if you’re looking for a well-developed m/f romance, you’ve found it here)

An Unkindness of Ghosts- I think this is the book that kicked off my sudden interest in sci-fi last year. It’s dark and beautiful, definitely character-driven, and everyone is truly strange in ways that protagonists rarely get to be. It’s also got one of the loveliest, most satisfying endings I can imagine.

Code Name Verity- An incredibly intense YA book that delves deep into one of my favorite fictional themes, Morality. It’s a rollicking spy adventure novel that focuses on a close friendship rather than romance (although you can read it as sapphic if you want), with descriptions of flying over England at sunset that made my heart ache.

The Raven Tower- I enjoyed this story for reasons probably particular to me—I like long digressions into abstract questions like “How do we exert power over the world?” and “Where does the meaning of words exist?”, and entire sections of The Raven Tower are devoted to the inner meditations of a very contemplative rock. It’s also a retelling of Hamlet, if that’s more your speed.

Network Effect (and Murderbot novellas)- I’m going to quote my immediately-after-finishing review: “Murderbot always gives me feels. I would love to give a more literary summary, but I’m still overwhelmed by the tentative vulnerability of two bots being best friends and watching TV together after [redacted].” The first Murderbot novel definitely did not disappoint.

The Monster of Elendhaven- Decadent, blood-soaked, and morally depraved, it’s kind of like The Picture of Dorian Gray by way of Hannibal (NBC), with probable influences from a dozen other macabre works and no restraint whatsoever. Reading it felt very self-indulgently delightful.

Before Mars- A deliciously unsettling sci-fi thriller with a refreshingly blunt, unsentimental female protagonist. Also definitely an …interesting book to read at the end of March 2020, but explaining why would definitely be a spoiler. Suffice it to say that the book goes dark places not advertised on the tin, and it made me cry.

Orange World- Karen Russell is one of those writers who make you wonder “how did they come up with this?” Every one of her stories is a totally original marriage between two wildly different concepts (like a Bog Maiden and high school romance, or new motherhood and the devil), and they’re a nice blend of literary and fantasy that I love.

Something That May Shock and Discredit You- It’s so hard to rank this one, because its two primary concerns are Christianity and transness, one of which means very little to me and one of which is breathtakingly important. I couldn’t justify putting it any lower, because it made me feel an ungodly number of feelings, but I couldn’t really justify putting it higher when a solid third of the book went right over my head.

The Ten Thousand Doors of January- A truly wondrous novel, one that fully immerses you in the delight of storytelling and imagination, and the power of escaping to other worlds. It’s very much in the tradition of “books that pay tribute to the love of books,” and an homage to a hundred portal fantasies before it.

Braiding Sweetgrass- I’ve got such a fondness for nature writing that doesn’t even try to be scientifically detached, and instead leaves you with the feeling that the trees and fields around you are bustling with (nonhuman) people.* Kimmerer’s writing is steeped in indigenous ways of knowing, and emphasizes the respect and reciprocity we can hold for the natural world. It’s lovely writing, and I can’t recommend the book highly enough.

Call Down the Hawk- Full of all the ingredients you expect from a Maggie Stiefvater book: fast cars, ancient magic, questions of art and truth, and borderline overuse of the word “cunning.” Every time I read one of her books I want to start taking notes, because she’s got such a signature style that’s both poetic and readable.

The Unspoken Name- For some reason I wasn’t much into epic fantasy last year, but I’m glad I gave this one a try. I love morally grey characters, of which there are plenty, and the plot took a number of refreshing twists and turns.

A Memory Called Empire- Not a fast-moving read, but perfect if you like your sci-fi novels poetic, complex, and intellectual. The worldbuilding is incredibly immersive, in a way that reminded me a bit of Ursula K. Le Guin, and I remember this stuck with me for weeks after I finished it.

*Let me be a nerdy weirdo for a second: Most of the time Kimmerer is writing about New England, an area I’m not really familiar with, but “The Sound of Silverbells” is set on a mountain somewhere in the South, and I adored it. Suddenly she was writing about dogwoods and redbuds and poplars, and I was sitting there going “!!! Those are my friends! My friends are in a book!”

Changes I’d make now:

Bump The Starless Sea down a couple pegs, maybe to #6

Swap out Cordelia’s Honor and Young Miles

Bump The Raven Tower way down to #16 and bump A Memory Called Empire a few spots higher, maybe to #17

Braiding Sweetgrass can go up where The Raven Tower was

#an inexhaustable source of magic #personal #yes i know none of them have the author's name #sorry about that #it you're reading this it's because i noticed i forgot the authors right after i queued it and then went 'oh well' and cleaned my bathroom #and subsequently did not remember and/or find the time #if you're not reading this then i found the time

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yaimlight · 3 years

Text

Part 3 - No

Rating: older teen (swearing and mild sex references)

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x female reader / Todoroki Shoto x female reader / Bakugou Katsuki x female reader x Todoroki Shoto

A/N: part of the Twos Company series but can be read on own. Rest of series can be found on AO3 here.

Part 1

Part 2

———————————————————————

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” you exclaimed loudly as you flung the door open, arms thrown wide and beaming. Shinso looked up from his book, his tired eyes narrowed and a bored look on his face. He rolled his eyes, huffing at you and then turned his attention back to what he was reading. Laughing you closed the door behind you, kicking your shoes off before making your way over to the bed.

He didn’t even look up at you as you climbed onto his bed, eyes fixed on the book in his hands. “Shinso,” you said teasingly, slowly crawling up towards him. His eyes briefly darted up to you before going back to his book. Smirking you crawled over him, settling over his lap and plucked the book from his hands. Huffing he finally looked up at you, folding his arms over his chest. “I was reading that,” he said flatly but you could see his lips curling up into a small smile.

“Well that’s just boring” you said dismissively, not even looking at the book as you closed it and dropped it onto the floor. His small smile fell back into a frown and you knew he was about to have a scold you so you got there first, shuffling back onto his thighs. “I have something much better,” you shoved your hand into your jacket pocket, letting out a triumphant cry as you pulled the lollipop out. You held the heart shaped sweet out to him, ‘be mine’ printed on the front of the glossy red lolly. He looked at it in utter disgust, arms remaining folded and refusing to move. “It’s a thank you, for getting rid of all those letters for me before Katsuki and Shoto got to class this morning,” you stated, wiggling the lolly at him in an attempt to get him to take it.

He had been a reluctant coconspirator this morning, getting rid of all the confession letters and cheap nasty chocolates before your class had arrived, leaving your boxes behind instead. He had bitched and moaned about the whole thing, trying to get you to do it yourself but you had wanted to spend the morning with the two other boys. Plus you had wanted to see the looks on their faces when they realised they didn’t have all the gaudy crap cluttering their desks like they normally would. You hadn’t been counting on there being more idiots trying to confess throughout the day and there had been a slight wobble, well more a cataclysm at how you had handled that situation but thankfully it was all smoothed out, all parties happy again.

You sat on his thighs, spinning the lolly between your fingers and smiling brightly, waiting for him to take it and finally he gave in. Huffing he snatched the sweet off you, unwrapping it quickly and shoving it into his mouth. Beaming you darted forward, placing a quick kiss on his bulging cheek before rolling off of him and flopping down onto the bed. He huffed at you, sucking noisily on the lollipop as you made yourself comfortable on you back, arms folded behind your head. “Honestly Shinso, thank you,” you spoke earnestly, tilting your head so you could look up at him.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled around the sweet though he still managed to sound just as grumpy. Smiling you let your eyes close, letting the gentle quiet and calm wash over you. Today had been annoyingly exhausting and you were happy for the reprieve, letting everything fade apart from the gentle hum of Shinso’s quirk. It was familiar and calming and didn’t inspire the same sort of hunger as Shoto and Katsuki’s did.

“I can’t believe how much shit those two idiots got though,” Shinso grumbled around the lollipop. Suddenly alert you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, eyes snapping open as you turned to look up at him in excitement and hope. “Did you keep them?” He frowned down at you, lips pursed but you just grinned back at him, barely keeping your excitement contained. Sighting he pulled the lolly from his lips and used it to gesture toward his desk. “Over there,” he sighed but you were moving before he had even finished talking. He let out a pained groan as you clambered over him, your knee digging into his stomach and nails catching on his chest but you didn’t stop to apologise.

How you had missed the stack of vibrant envelopes was beyond you but now that you had it in your sights you couldn’t see anything else. You practically flung yourself into his desk chair, snatching a hot pink envelope off the top. You were vaguely aware of Shinso grumbling as he pushed himself round to sit on the edge of the bed but he was not your priority right now. You quickly ripped the envelope open, glancing at the front only long enough to see Shoto’s name before you cast it aside and fumbled open the letter. The sickly sweet smell of roses filled the air, the cheap perfume filling your senses.

Ever since Ashido had brought up how bad last year’s Valentine’s Day had been you had been obsessing over these, desperate to see if they really were as bad as the others had lead you to believe. As your eyes darted across the page you were not disappointed. “Oh my god” you gasped, your voice shaking as you tried not to laugh. Clearing your throat, you sat up a little straighter and proceeded to read the poem out in a clear and melodic voice. “I think I was searching for treasures or stones in the clearest of pools when your face…when your face, like the moon in a well where I might wish…might well wish for the iced fire of your kiss; only on water my lips, where your face…where your face was reflected, lovely, not really there when I turned to look behind at the emptying air…the emptying air*”.

Letting the last word trailed off you finally looked up at Shinso, raising an eyebrow at him as you smirked. His face was scrunched up in a look of disgust. “Was that for Todoroki?” he asked, the judgment clear in his tone. Scoffing you held you hand over his small bin and set the thing up in flames, letting the ashes fall into the bin. “What gave it away?” you said sarcastically. It was well written and you got the sense that whoever had sent it wanted to convey a sense of longing but you also thought that the only reason they had picked it was because it mentioned both fire and ice. “Well at least it made some sort of sense,” Shinso mumbled before sticking the lolly back in his mouth and leaned back on his hands, legs splayed wide.

Snorting you went back to the pile, taking the next one off the top. This one was a soft pink, Katsuki’s name across the front. The letter you pulled out was heart shaped, the same shade of pink as the envelope and the writing in a glittering silver. It looked like something Katsuki would hate, blowing it up before he even looked at it and complaining the whole time. You were expecting it to be just as cringe as the last one but as your eyes flicked over one line to the next you found yourself smiling.

“What?” Shinso mumbled but you didn’t answer him, just looking up at him with a grin and holding out the letter towards him. Huffing he reluctantly pushed up off the bed and trudged over to you, hand held out for the letter. He slumped against the desk and snatched it from your hand. “Whose it for?” he mumbled around the lolly. “Katsuki,” you couldn’t keep the amusement out of you voice, eagerly waiting for his reaction and to your delight he actually read it out loud, his tired and deep voice muffled around the lolly still in his mouth. “Roses are red, and they are thorny. How ‘bout some head, cause you make me horny”.

The look of absolute horror on Shinso’s face had you laughing, your sides aching from it. “That’s disgusting,” he grumbled, going to throw it in the bin but you quickly moved forward, snatching it out of his hands. “No it’s amazing. Do you think they want to suck Katsuki’s dick or want him to suck theirs?” You asked as you reread through the short but amusing poem. “Oh god I do not need that image,” Shinso looked sick, one arm wrapped around his stomach and the other rubbing at his temples as he glared at you, as if this was all your fault. Well you suppose in a way it was but regardless of if he had taken the Valentine’s cards or not he still would have heard about them. Especially this one.

Shrugging you folded the letter back up, put it back in its envelope and tucking it into your jacket pocket. “Why are you keeping that?” he hissed in disbelief, looking down at you like you had gone crazy and in all honesty he wasn’t far off. “I’m going to tape it to Katsuki’s door,” you grinned up at him, eyes alight with mischief. Katsuki was bound to be flustered and angry and if anyone other than Shoto found it first he would have to spend all day with his friends teasing him. He would be angry, frustrated and defensive. It would be a perfect opportunity for you to be crude and teasing just to see that perfectly delectable blush on his cheeks. You could already feel how much amusement you were going to get out of it. “I thought you were supposed to like him”. You ignored his snarky comment, instead grabbing another letter and shoving it at him. He huffed as he took it off you but he still opened it.

The two of you spent the next twenty minutes reading through the letters, you taking great pleasure in setting them alight. Some of them were truly awful, not even rhyming and sickly sweet. You and Shinso would share the occasional one that you knew would make the other laugh or feel sick. Most of them were harmless, just girls and a surprising amount of guys gushing generic words of love but there were the odd few that were just a little worrying. One of them went into great detail about Katsuki’s chest and how his muscles glistened with sweat whilst another described how pretty Shoto looked whilst training. You didn’t like it one bit and you made a mental note to pay more attention to the people who hung around the two up and coming heroes whilst they were training.

“Listen to this” Shinso called, snapping your attention back to him and away from your plots of how to get rid of the other boy’s stalkers. At some point he had gone back to his bed, lounging across it with a stack of letters next to him, read ones discarded on the floor. He was sat up now though, a small smirk on his lips and instantly you were suspicious of what would have him looking so happy. He cleared his throat, his voice low and clear and his smile getting bigger with every word he spoke. “I watch from afar, your burning light calling to me like a flame calls a moth to its demise, but you do not see me for your heart beats for another. You can’t see how she hurts you so, her cruel intentions hidden behind her charming smile. You follow her blindly even though she so openly flaunts another’s affection before you. If you were mine I would cherish you like the shinning diamond you are. My devotion to you would know no bounds, my love a constant amongst the chaos but you do not see me, my love cast in shadows as she breaks your heart once more. So I watch from afar, craving your light as you follow blindly, the girl who would see you fall”.

The room feel into silence.

Shinso was grinning madly now and all you could do was stare at him dumbly with your mouth hanging open, the letter you had been holding falling to the floor forgotten. “The actual fuck,” you mumbled in disbelief. “Seems someone thinks you’re a bit of a bitch,” he teased, clearly amused at your dumbfounded expression. “I mean they’re not wrong”. Narrowing your eyes you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and slumping back into the chair. “That’s rich coming from you,” you grumbled. Where the hell did these people get off? Making assumptions like that, treating you like trash to make themselves seem better. Suddenly all the humour you had found in reading the love confessions was gone, leaving a bitter and sour taste in your mouth and all you wanted was to set the whole lot on fire.

Shinso laughed at you once more, his smirk easing into a teasing smile and he chucked the letter onto the pile of discarded letters on his floor. “You can’t really blame people for thinking your stringing them both along though. Considering how you are with them,” he said offhandedly but his words made something twist in your chest. Was that really what it seemed like? Did people think you were leading them on for what, fun? Because you could? Did Katsuki and Shoto feel the same way?

It wasn’t your intention to make it seem like that, it’s just that you liked them both and it had all just kind of happened. It had never occurred to you before now that what you were doing could be considered cruel and the thought left you feeling sick, guilt twisting in your gut and making you second guess everything you had done today. Shoto knew it was you that had sent the chocolates but would he think they were just another meaningless flirtation? “I’m not stringing them along,” you mumbled, frowning sadly down at your socked feet. Your purposely mismatched socks that Momo had gifted you for Christmas, one to look like Katsuki’s hero costume and the other to look like Shoto’s. You had thought your feeling had been obvious, your genuine affection for the two would be heroes clear for everyone to see but apparently not.

Shinso sighed, the bed creaking as he shifted. The atmosphere had changed, the light and teasing air of things becoming serious and honestly a little bleak. And you had been having such a good day. “You know all this could be avoided if you just asked one of them out”. Your eyes went wide, head snapping up at Shinso’s exasperated words. He was frowning at you, tired eyes filled with a mix of emotions that you didn’t really care for. “No,” you growled out angrily, narrowing your own eyes as you glared at him. “Why?” he snapped, arms crossed over his chest.

This wasn’t the first time the two of you had had this conversation. Not even the first time this week. Things would be so much easier if you were the one to do the asking, to put aside the flirting and teasing and take the initiative. You could just pull one of them aside and say ‘go on a date with me’ and they would say yes. Hell you could probably get away with just telling them you were dating now but there was one important thing you would have to do before that and that was an impossible thing to do. Because for you to ask one of them out you would have to choose witch one you wanted to go out with the most and you couldn’t do that because you simply didn’t want one of them more than the other one.

It had been bad enough having to suffer through that broken look on Katsuki’s face when you had had to turn down spending New Years with him. You didn’t think you could stomach how he would look if you chose Shoto over him. Nor the look on Shoto’s face if you bushed him aside for the angry blonde. It wasn’t lost on you how lucky you were that the normally distant and oblivious teens had taken an interest in you, Ashido having told you that most people had given up trying to date them as they were so oblivious or against it. So you knew that for them to act the way do with you was nothing more than a small miracle but it also left you spoiled. You had spent so long without people touching you that now you had two people who seemed to crave it as much as you did it left you desperate, so enamoured with both of them that you couldn’t bring yourself to choose between the two.

Oh god this was hopeless.

Deciding to try and deflect Shinso’s questions you sighed dramatically, looking down your nose at him and levelling him with an unimpressed look. “That’s not how these things work Shinso. The guy asks the girl out not the other way round,” you said condescendingly, waving your hand between the two of you as you spoke. He arched an eyebrow at you, arms still crossed over his chest and making his arm muscles seem even bigger as they strained against the short sleeves of his t-shirt.

He really was good looking and not for the first time you thought about how much easier things would have been if you had fallen for him instead of Katsuki and Shoto. He knew everything there was to know about you and accepted it, despite all the horrors you had been wrapped up in over the years. “And it has nothing to do with the fact that if one of them actually grows a pair of balls and asks you out then you don’t have to make the decision of witch one to hurt”. You physically flinched at his words, his knowing and chiding tone making you feel guilty for trying to hide the truth.

Perhaps he knew you to well at this point, able to call you out on all your bullshit. Sighing you slumped back into the chair, arm flung over the back rest and legs dangling over the arm. “Exactly” you mumbled as you tipped your head back, flinging your other arm over your eyes in a childish attempt to block everything else out.

There had to be an easier way to do this that didn’t involve you having to choose between the two of them. You were running out of time. Finals were literally days away and you barely had a month before everyone graduated and you were shipped off to the next safe house. You scoffed at that. Safe house was putting it lightly. Where you were going was a newly built high security underground prison designed to be completely impenetrable and for the worst of the worst. This thing hidden so far out in the wilds of Alaska that no matter how hard people looked they would never find you.

You had a handful of weeks before your time ran out and you lost your chance forever.

Shinso huffed, the muffled sounds of him moving around and muttering to himself bringing a small smile to your lips. You would miss this when you were gone and it was a shame that you hadn’t gotten to spend as much time with him as you had hoped to, what with Katsuki practically frothing at the mouth every time he was so much as brought up in conversation let alone you brought him with you when you spent time with the blonde. You got that he was jealous but you couldn’t really see the problem he had with Shinso. Sure he could be rude and loved nothing more than to get under Katsuki’s skin but couldn’t he see that you were just friends?

Like a lightbulb going off you found your answer and you jolted up, startling Shinso with you sudden action. You smiled widely at him, eyes alight as you leaned forward. “What?” he asked hesitantly, eyeing you suspiciously. “Katsuki absolutely hates you and Shoto can only just about stand you,” you exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. His hesitance vanished, eyes narrowing and lips twisted into a frown. “Is this going somewhere?”

You pushed up and out of the chair, almost tripping over your own feet in your deprecation to get to him. You threw yourself at him, his tired eyes widening in panic as his arms shot out to grab hold of you. The two of you went tumbling back, Shinso ending up sprawled across his bed and you practically laying on top of him. You pushed yourself up onto your hands and knees, hovering over him and still grinning a little manically. “If they thought that you and I were going on a date it might encourage them to actually do something”.

You shifted your weight onto one hand, quickly tapping him on the end of the nose. It was a brilliant idea and you couldn’t believe you hadn’t thought of it before. It was probably wrong to deceive them like that but desperate times call for desperate measures and you were truly desperate at this point.

“No. Absolutely not,” he snapped, hands gripping at you tightly as he shoved you off of him and onto the bed before he stood, shoving a hand through his already messy hair and going to walk away from you. Groaning you sat up, hands darting out to grab at his arm and keeping him in place. “Shinso please. I haven’t got long left before I get shipped off to fucking Alaska. Please for me?” you begged him, eyes wide and pleading even though he wasn’t looking at you. It was a low blow, reminding him of your impending return to prison but you knew he wanted you to have memories to take back with you and though he was against it he would give in to you. Just like every time before.

Groaning he lifted a hand to his face, rubbing it over his eyes. The room fell into silence as you waited for his answer. You could feel the hum of his quick under your hand, almost pulsing like another heartbeat. It was slow and steady and strong, tempting and familiar though not in the way Katsuki’s and Shoto’s were. Your hunger for their power would probably never leave you but after having them at your disposal almost every day since you had arrived it had become less all consuming. Shinso’s was still some sort of comfort though and you would miss his gentle purple glow and the open ease in which he let you touch him.

“Fine but you owe me” he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing as his hand fell and he turned to look at you with a sad almost smile. “Anything,” you promised and you were not surprised to realise you meant it. Shinso could ask you to move mountains and topple empires and you would, just so he knew how much you appreciate him and everything he had done for you in the last year.

Huffing out in laughter Shinso returned to the bed, slipping his arm from your as he went. He sat back against the headboard, arm slung over it and looking at you expectantly. Smiling softly you crawled up the bed, slotting against his side and wrapping an arm around his middle. His own arm draped across your shoulders, pulling you closer and you went willingly, soaking in as much of the physical contact you could get before you went god knows how long without it.

You fell into silence again, Shinso absentmindedly playing with your hair. At some point he had retrieved his book from the floor, holding it in one hand and using his fingers to awkwardly flip the pages. It was nice, relaxing even and you were content to stay there for a while. “So is there a plan for this or you just want me to go taunt your little guard dogs into action,” Shinso’s casual tone threw you, having thought you were done talking for now.

Tipping your head back you were surprised to find him already looking down at you. Nervously your eyes darted off to the side and to the now rather small stack of envelopes on his desk. As much as the idea of Shinso just storming up to you whilst you were with the other two teens seemed funny it was also a sure fire way for him to end up with a broken nose and either frost bite or third degree burns. Plus you didn’t want him to actually ask you out, you just wanted the hint of it. Wanted Katsuki and Shoto jealous and panicked enough to act quickly and without giving it to much thought.

Sighing you turned back to him, patting him gently on the chest and giving him your best look of fond exasperation. “I think we can be a little more subtle then that”. He huffed out a little laugh, lips curling up into a rare soft smile. Not as rare as either Katsuki’s or Shoto’s but still infrequent enough that you would cherish it for years to come. “No pink unicorns and picnics on the moon then,” he teased, his words startling your own huff of laughter out of you. “Unfortunately no,” you smiled, turning your gaze away from him and looking down at the book that now lay open and forgotten on his lap. Your eyes darted across the page, taking in the small snippet of story and you recognise it for what it is, a bloody and gruesome tale designed to leave the reader not only horrified and scared but haunted by the possibilities of what lurked in the dark.

If it was nightmares he was after you could give him that, no fiction needed just the story of how you had come to be here at U.A. It wouldn’t be much of a tale, no happy ending to speak of. Just a small glimmer of hope before bleak despair took over. Max would scream until he was red in face if you told Shinso everything, he was already angry enough when he found out how much the perpetually tired teen knew but there had been no point lying after he had forced the first truth from your lips and the subsequent beat down he had received afterwards.

Sighing you glanced at the clock that sat on his bedside table, the neon red numbers glowing brightly. “I should go,” you mumbled, reluctantly pushing away from Shinso’s warmth and shuffling off the bed. You had been due in Evans’ office almost an hour ago now and he would only give you so much time before he went looking for you. Normally you wouldn’t care but you had told Shoto where you were going and he and Katsuki would be the first people Evans went to, not even bothering to turn your tracker on and just assuming you would be with them like always.

Shinso didn’t say anything but you could feel his eyes on you as you headed towards the door, shoving your shoes back on with a pout. He seemed to sense the shift in your mood, something that was getting more frequent the closer the end of the school year got and thankfully he allowed you the time to gather your wits before heading off to the mandatory meeting with Evans’. Things had been rather tense between you and the detective since Christmas and you were not looking forward to another hour or so of the awkward and stilted small talk that would proceed him telling you what you really wanted to know.

Your father hand been spotted in South Korea not even a week ago, rather brazenly actually, even smiling at the security camera before leaving the bank he had just robbed. He wanted you to know he was coming for you, was dragging it out as probably some kind of punishment, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind just so you could see as he got closer and closer. It was worrying everyone, even the teachers were tense and on edge. Plans had been brought forward in reaction to his ever tightening grasp, your departure for Alaska now set to happen whilst the graduation ceremony took place instead of afterwards like it had been planned originally.

You, the detective and a select few heroes would slip out amongst the commotion and fan fair, using the whole thing as a diversion. It would be a shame you wouldn’t get to say goodbye, wouldn’t get to see your friends happy faces as they transition from heroes in training to actual licensed and fully qualified heroes but it was probably for the best. If you actually had to say goodbye to Katsuki and Shoto you didn’t think you would make it, braking down before the words even made it past your lips.

Shinso opened the door for you, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and watching you intently as if he was looking for some sign that you were about to break and he would have to catch the pieces. Turning you offered him a smile, trying to make it as wide and playful as you could muster. “Lunch tomorrow?” you wiggled an eyebrow at him, tongue pocking out from between your lips. He huffed in amusement rolling his eyes at you but he was smiling softly again so you counted it as a win.

His smile turned into something wicked and you groaned at his next words, “sure you can help me cram for finals”. That was the last thing on your mind right now. Even if you did have to take the stupid tests, they didn’t change anything for you and at this point it all seemed like a gigantic waist of everyone’s time but not for Shinso, so if he wanted help you would give it to him but you wouldn’t be happy about it. “Fine but I will do it reluctantly with a lot of complaining and a fair amount of inappropriate comments” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and giving him a pointed look. “So no different to normal then”.

You stuck your tongue out at him, his laughter low and rumbling. The whole exchanged had lifted your spirits slightly and with a mumbled “night” you blew him a kiss and headed on your way, the gentle click of his door closing sounding before you had even made it to the end of the corridor.

The common room was full as you made your way through, people turning and calling out greetings as you passed and you made sure to smile back brightly, wishing them all good night as you went. Class B had gotten used to you coming and going months ago and they hardly payed you any attention now when you came breezing in like you lived there. You were lucky Vlad King didn’t kick you out on your ass every time he caught you despite how often he told you off for disappearing into Shinso’s room for hours at a time. The only reason you could think you got away with it was because they all knew that you and Shinso weren’t doing anything other than studying or sleeping. Well not sleeping in Shinso’s case.

The night was cool as you stepped outside, the sun already on its way to setting. Sighing you contemplated just saying fuck it and head back to the dorms and barge your way in to whatever Katsuki or Shoto were up to but Evans would just come looking and ruin all your fun. As if on queue your phone dinged loudly, signalling at text and you quickly retrieved it, already knowing who it was from and sure enough the detectives name was showing in a little text bubble. You huffed at his words, the threat of having only five minutes to show yourself before he went looking for you a real one that you had ignored many times before and had ended up almost being dragged to his office. You sent him a quick text, telling him you were coming before shoving the phone back into your pocket.

You shot your dorm a longing look as you hurried past, eyes darting up to where you knew Shoto’s room to be and finding the light on. You wondered if he had told Katsuki yet that you had been the one to gift them the chocolates or if he had kept that little bit of information to himself? Either way it didn’t really matter, you didn’t think it would make either of them suddenly want to ask you out. You could only hope that whatever you and Shinso ended up doing worked.

You had never been on a date before and rather liked the idea of your first one being with either Katsuki or Shoto. It would be a good memory to take with you when you left. You could only hope that it would end up being a good memory for them as well.

*Echo by Carol Ann Duffy

#bnha fanfiction #mha #my hero academia #bakugou x reader #bakugou x todoroki #todoroki x reader #ao3 fanfic #bakugou x reader x todoroki #bakugou katsuki #todobaku #valentines #dorks in love #TCTC #twos company threes a crowd

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